Her Royal Highness Part 27

Water was needed, he knew, though he had had but little experience of cases such as this.

Upon the Minister's writing-table stood a silver bowl full of pale pink tulips, and these he threw out quickly and began to sprinkle Her Highness's hard-set countenance.

But to no avail.

For some minutes he tried frantically to restore her. He dared not ring for the servants, as it would no doubt compromise her to be found alone with him in that room. There were alas! sufficient wild stories afloat about her already, and no doubt if she were discovered there with him the fact would, in an hour, reach His Majesty's ears.

In such case what explanation could he give without telling absolute lies? Besides, did not His Majesty repose the utmost confidence in him, and that confidence must a.s.suredly be shaken.

Absolutely helpless he stood gazing upon her prostrate figure and trying in vain to seek a solution of the difficulty.

If she would only regain consciousness in order that he could ring the bell and leave her. But, alas! she was insensible, and no amount of water upon her face would revive her. Of smelling-salts or other restoratives there were none. So he was compelled to remain there inactive and impatient.

What could be the nature of the message she had received from that man who, though a Frenchman, was posing in Brussels as Slavo Petrovitch, a Servian from Belgrade? It must have been a most disquieting one to have so upset her as to cause her to faint. A girl who knew no fear, who was naturally athletic and strong-minded, who drove her car through the night alone and unattended, and who, travelling to the north incognita, had won a motor-cycle race, was not the sort of person to faint at any news which did not gravely concern herself.

Was it possible, he wondered, that Henri Pujalet had written abandoning her?

That was the impression which forced itself upon him. The Frenchman certainly could not know her real t.i.tle and position. Pujalet no doubt believed, as he himself had believed, that Lola was a poor dependent.

Hence it was quite probable that he had met some other woman and in favour of her had abandoned Lola.

Yet, as he stood there wondering he recollected the love-scene that hot stifling night beneath the palms in the far-off Sudan, how her lover had held her so pa.s.sionately to his breast and smothered her face with his kisses. And how she, too, had stroked his cheeks tenderly with both her soft hands.

Yes. They, no doubt, loved each other, and perhaps, after all, he was misjudging that man to whom she had given her affection.

Thoughts of Beatriz, too, flashed across his mind. How different was the pale rec.u.mbent figure in white to that das.h.i.+ng Andalusian dancer!

He dropped upon one knee at the side of the couch, looked intently upon the white unconscious countenance, and held his breath.

"Lola!" he whispered, but so low that sound hardly pa.s.sed his fevered lips. "I love you, darling! I love you, though you shall never know, because our love is forbidden. Alas! it could only bring grief, sorrow, and disaster upon both of us. But--ah, my G.o.d! I love you--_I love you_!"

And slowly and reverently he took the inert hand which he held in his and raising it to his lips, kissed it with all the mad, ardent pa.s.sion of his stifled affection.

For some minutes he remained there kneeling by her side, stroking her bare white arm and kissing her soft little hand. Sorely tempted was he to kiss her upon the lips, but by dint of self-restraint he held himself back.

She was unconscious, and to kiss her would be to take an unfair advantage.

But time and again he repeated those fervent whispered words, sometimes so loud that they could actually be heard in the room.

"Lola! I love you! I love you, darling. I love you--though you can never be mine!"

He was bending over her hand in silence, a great lump having arisen in his throat, while in his eyes were unshed tears. The blank hopelessness of his mad pa.s.sion had been forced upon him. There were two reasons.

She loved the young Frenchman, and again she, a Princess of the House of Savoy, could never marry a mere foreign diplomat.

No, he must again crush down all his intense love for her; again remain her sincere and most devoted friend.

Once more he bent till his lips reverently touched her cold hand, but at that moment he heard a movement behind him, and, turning, saw a short, white-haired man in Court uniform, with the crimson and white ribbon of the Order of the Crown of Italy at his throat.

Waldron started quickly.

The man who had entered noiselessly and stood there watching him was none other than the man who, up the Nile, had pa.s.sed as Lola's uncle, Jules Gigleux--but whose real name was Luigi Ghelardi, the most renowned Secret Service Chief in Europe.

"Well, signore," exclaimed the shrewd, cunning old man in Italian with his grey brows knit, "this is certainly a surprise! I did not expect when I entered here in search of His Excellency the General that I should make this very interesting discovery?"

Waldron sprang to his feet much confused and altered in the same language:

"Her Highness has unfortunately fainted."

"And you were trying to restore her--eh?" he laughed with bitter sarcasm.

There was a look of distinct evil in the man's small cunning eyes.

"Yes. And I have failed," Waldron answered.

"Had you not better ring for the servants? I think so."

And the chief spy of Italy pressed the electric b.u.t.ton near at hand.

In response, a tall sentry appeared at once and saluted.

"I want one of the maids of the household instantly. Her Royal Highness has fainted."

"_Si, signore_," was the man's reply, saluting, again turning like clockwork and disappearing.

"I must confess, Signor Waldron," exclaimed Ghelardi, very severely, "that I am greatly surprised to discover you here, and in such a position as I found you."

"And I am equally surprised, Signor Ghelardi, to discover your real ident.i.ty," was the diplomat's reply. "For a number of years, as Chief of the German Service, you were the arch-enemy of my country. That is not forgotten, even though you have returned to the land of your birth, and taken service again under your own King."

"It appears that your att.i.tude is the reverse of friendly, signore," was the antagonistic reply of the man with the bristly hair, who looked much more French than Italian.

"And it appears to me that very little friends.h.i.+p exists between us on either side--eh?"

"From what I have just witnessed I can plainly discern the truth," said the Chief of the Secret Service. "The Princess is a giddy, skittish girl whose injudicious actions have, from time to time, caused greatest annoyance and anxiety to Their Majesties. Rome is full of scandals regarding her unconventionality and her disregard for her high position.

And here we have yet another. I discover her insensible with you kneeling at her side declaring your affection?"

"I hope the discovery gives you most supreme satisfaction, Signor Ghelardi," exclaimed Hubert defiantly.

"It gives me the greatest dissatisfaction. His Majesty entrusts her to my care, and I am responsible."

"You exercised your duty very well in Egypt, I admit," Waldron replied with a light laugh. "Now I suppose your intention will be to go to His Majesty and describe what you have seen here this evening."

"I shall act, signore, just as I think fit."

"No doubt, in order to curry favour with His Majesty you will give a lurid picture of what you have witnessed," exclaimed Hubert. "Well, do so--at your own peril."

As he spoke two maids entered, accompanied by the sentry.

"Her Royal Highness has fainted," Ghelardi explained, pointing to the prostrate figure upon the couch. "You, sentry, had better go in search of Doctor Mellini. He is probably in his rooms. You know where they are--close to the princ.i.p.al entrance. Tell your captain--he will soon find him."