Tony Butler

"You did not argue in that fas.h.i.+on two years ago, when you were going to marry a Spanish princess, and the half-sister of a queen."

"Well, I have never regretted that I broke off the match. It estranged me, of course, from _him_; and indeed he has never forgiven me."

"He might, however, now, if he saw that you could establish your fortunes so favorably,--don't you think so?"

"No, Carlo. It is all for rank and t.i.tle, not for money, that he cares!

His whole game in life was played for the Peerage. He wanted to be 'My Lord;' and though repeatedly led to believe he was to have the t.i.tle, the Minister put off, and put off, and at last fell from power without keeping his pledge. Now in this Spanish business he bargained that I was to be a Duke,--a Grandee of Spain. The Queen declared it impossible.

Mufios himself was refused. The dukedom, however, I could have. With the glitter of that ducal coronet before his eyes, he paid three hundred thousand francs I lost at the Jockey Club in Paris, and he merely said, 'Your luck in love has been somewhat costly,--don't play such high stakes again.'"

"He is _tres grand seigneur!_" said the Italian, with a voice of intense admiration and respect.

"Yes," said Maitland; "in every case where mere money enters, he is princely. I never met a man who thought less of his gold. The strange thing is, that it is his ambition which exhibits him so small!"

"Adagio, adagio, caro mio!" cried Caffarelli, laughing. "I see where you are bound for now. You are going to tell me, as you have some score of times, that to all English estimation our foreign t.i.tles are sheer nonsense; that our pauper counts and beggarly dukes are laughing matter for even your Manchester folk; and that in your police code baron and blackleg are synonyms. Now spare me all this, _caro_ Maitland, for I know it by heart."

"If one must say such impertinences, it is well to say them to a cardinal's nephew."

The slight flush of temper in the Italian's cheek gave way at once, and he asked good-humoredly, as he said, "Better say them to me, certainly, than to my uncle. But, to be practical, if he does attach so much importance to rank and t.i.tle, why do you not take that counts.h.i.+p of Amalfi the King offered you six months ago, and which, to this day, he is in doubt whether you have accepted or refused?"

"How do you know that?" asked Maitland, eagerly.

"I know it in this wise; that when his Majesty mentioned your name t'

other day to Filangieri, he said, 'The Chevalier Maitland or Count of Amalfi,--I don't know by which name he likes to call himself.'"

"Are you sure of this?"

"I heard it; I was present when he said it."

"If I did not accept when it was offered, the reason was this: I thought that the first time I wrote myself Count of Amalfi, old Santarelli would summon me before him to show birth and parentage, and fifty other particulars which I could have no wish to see inquired after; and as the t.i.tle of Amalfi was one once borne by a cadet of the royal family, he 'd have been all the more exacting in his perquisitions before inscribing my name in that precious volume he calls the 'Libro d'Oro.' If, however, you tell me that the King considers that I have accepted the rank, it gives the matter another aspect."

"I suspect poor old Santarelli has very little heart for heraldry just now. He has got a notion that the first man the Revolutionists will hang will be himself,

"There is one way to do it if it could be managed," said Maitland, pondering. "Three lines in the King's hand, addressing me 'The Chevalier Maitland, Count of Amalfi!' With these I 'd defy all the heralds that ever carried a painted coat in a procession."

"If that be all, I 'll promise you it. I am writing to Filangieri to-morrow. Let me have some details of what men you have recruited and what services you have rendered, briefly, not formally; and I'll say, 'If our master would vouchsafe in his own hand a line, a word even, to the Count of Amalfi, it would be a recompense he would not exchange for millions.' I 'll say 'that the letter could be sent to Ludolf at Turin, where we shall probably be in a week or two. '"

"And do you think the King will accede?"

"Of course he will. We are not asking for a pension, or leave to shoot at Caserta. The thing is the same as done. Kings like a cheap road out of their indebtedness as well as humbler people. If not, they would never have invented crosses and grand cordons."

"Now, let us concoct the thing regularly," said Maitland, pus.h.i.+ng the decanters from before him, as though, by a gesture, to show that he had turned from all conviviality to serious considerations. "You," continued he, "will, first of all, write to Filangieri."

"Yes. I will say, half incidentally, as it were, Maitland is here with me, as eager as the warmest of us in the cause. He has been eminently successful in his recruitment, of which he will soon send you details--"

"Ay, but how? That fellow M'Caskey, who has all the papers, did not meet me as I ordered him, and I cannot tell where he is."

"I am to blame for this, Maitland, for I ordered him to come over here, as the most certain of all ways of seeing you."

"And he is here now?"

"Yes. Arrived last night In the hope of your arrival, I gave him a rendezvous here--any hour from ten to one or two to-night--and we shall soon see him."

"I must confess, I don't care how brief the interview be: the man is not at all to my liking."

"You are not likely to be much bored by him here, at least."

"How do you mean?"

"The police are certain to hear of his arrival, and to give him a friendly hint to arrange his private affairs with all convenient despatch and move off."

"With what party or section do they connect him?"

"With how many? you might perhaps ask; for I take it he has held office with every shade of opinion, and intrigued for any cause from Henry V.

to the reddest republicanism. The authorities, however, always deal with a certain courtesy to a man of this sort. They intimate, simply, We are aware you are here,--we know pretty well for what; and so don't push us to any disagreeable measures, but cross over into Belgium or Switzerland. M'Caskey himself told me he was recognized as he drew up at the hotel, and, in consequence, thinks he shall have to go on in a day or two."

"Is not the fellow's vanity in some measure a reason for this? Does he not rather plume himself on being _l'homme dangereux_ to all Europe?"

"In conversation he would certainly give this idea, but not in fact. He is marvellously adroit in all his dealings with the authorities, and in nothing is he more subtle than in the advantage he takes of his own immense conceit. He invariably makes it appear that vanity is his weak point; or, as he phrases it himself, 'I always show my adversary so much of my hand as will mislead him.'"

"And is he really as deep as all this would imply?"

"Very deep for an Englishman; fully able to cope with the cunningest of his own people, but a child amongst ours, Maitland."

Maitland laughed scornfully as he said, "For the real work of life all your craft avails little. No man ever cut his way through a wood with a penknife, were it ever so sharp."

"The Count M'Caskey, Eccellenza, desires to know if you receive?" said Caffarelli's servant, in a low tone.

"Yes, certainly; but do not admit any one else."

Very significant--but very differently significant--were the looks that pa.s.sed between Maitland and Caffarelli in the brief interval before M'Caskey entered. At last the door was flung wide, and the distinguished Major appeared in full evening dress, one side of his coat a blaze of stars and crosses, while in front of his cravat he wore the ribbon and collar of some very showy order. Nothing could be easier than his _entree_; nothing less embarra.s.sed than his salutation to each in turn, as, throwing his white gloves into his hat, he drew over to the table, and began to search for an unused wine-gla.s.s.

"Here is a gla.s.s," said Caffarelli. "What will you drink? This is Bordeaux, and this is some sort of Hock; this is Moselle."

"Hand me the sherry; I am chilly. I have been chilly all day, and went out to dine against my will."

"Where did you dine?"

"With Plon-Plon," said he, languidly.

"With the Prince Napoleon?" asked Maitland, incredulously.

"Yes; he insisted on it I wrote to him to say that La Verrier, the sous-prefect, had invited me to make as short a delay at Paris as was consistent with my perfect convenience,--the police euphuism for twenty-four hours; and I said, 'Pray excuse me at dinner, for I shall want to see Caffarelli.' But he would n't take any apology, and I went, and we really were very pleasant."

"Who was there?" asked Caffarelli.

"Only seven altogether: Bagration and his pretty niece; an Aldobrandini Countess,--bygone, but still handsome; Joseph Poniatowsky; Botrain of 'La Patrie;' and your humble servant. Fould, I think, was expected, but did not come. Fearfully hot, this sherry,--don't you think so?"

Maitland looked superbly defiant, and turned his head away without ceremony. Caffarelli, however, came quickly to the rescue by pus.h.i.+ng over a bottle of Burgundy, and Baying, "And it was a pleasant party?"