CHAPTER XXXIX

THE HEART OF THE PRINCESS

When Wolfenden opened his paper on Saturday morning, London had already drawn a great breath, partly of relief partly of surprise, for the black head-lines which topped the columns of the papers, the placards in the streets, and the cry of the newsboys, all declared a most remarkable change in the political situation.

“THE GERMAN EMPEROR EXPLAINS!

THERE WILL BE NO WAR!

German Consul ordered Home!

No Rupture!”

Wolfenden, in common with most of his fellow-countrymen, could scarcely believe his eyes; yet there it was in plain black and white. The dogs of war had been called back. Germany was climbing down—not with dignity; she had gone too far for that—but with a scuffle. Wolfenden read the paper through before he even thought of his letters Then he began to open them slowly. The first was from his mother. The Admiral was distinctly better; the doctors were more hopeful. He turned to the next one; it was in a delicate, foreign handwriting, and exhaled a faint perfume which seemed vaguely familiar to him. He opened it and his heart stood still.

“14, Grosvenor Square,
“London, W

“Will you come and see me to-day about four o’clock? —Helène.”

He looked at his watch—four o’clock seemed a very long way off. He decided that he would go out and find Felix; but almost immediately the door was opened and that very person was shown in.

Felix was radiant; he appeared to have grown years younger. He was immaculately dressed, and he wore an exquisite orchid in his button-hole.

Wolfenden greeted him warmly.

“Have you seen the paper?” he asked. “Do you know the news?”

Felix laughed.

“Of course! You may not believe it, but it is true that I am the person who has saved your country! And I am quits at last with Herbert de la Meux, Duc de Souspennier!”

“Meaning, I suppose, the person whom we have been accustomed to call—Mr. Sabin?” Wolfenden remarked.

“Exactly!”

Wolfenden pushed an easy chair towards his visitor and produced some cigarettes.

“I must say,” he continued, “that I should exceedingly like to know how the thing was done.”

Felix smiled.

“That, my dear friend,” he said, “you will never know. No one will ever know the cause of Germany’s suddenly belligerent attitude, and her equally speedy climb-down! There are many pages of diplomatic history which the world will never read, and this is one of them. Come and lunch with me, Lord Wolfenden. My vow is paid and without bloodshed. I am a free man, and my promotion is assured. To-day is the happiest of my life!”

Wolfenden smiled and looked at the letter on the table before him; might it not also be the happiest day of his own life!

And it was! Punctually at four o’clock he presented himself at Grosvenor Square and was ushered into one of the smaller reception rooms. Helène came to him at once, a smile half-shy, half-apologetic upon her lips. He was conscious from the moment of her entrance of a change in her deportment towards him. She held in her hand a small locket.

“I wanted to ask you, Lord Wolfenden,” she said, drawing her fingers slowly away from his lingering clasp, “does this locket belong to you?”

He glanced at it and shook his head at once.

“I never saw it before in my life,” he declared. “I do not wear a watch chain, and I don’t possess anything of that sort.”

She threw it contemptuously away from her into the grate.

“A woman lied to me about it,” she said slowly. “I am ashamed of myself that I should have listened to her, even for a second. I chanced to look at it last night, and it suddenly occurred to me where I had seen it. It was on a man’s watch-chain, but not on yours.”

“Surely,” he said, “it belongs to Mr. Sabin?”

She nodded and held out both her hands.

“Will you forgive me?” she begged softly, “and—and—I think—I promised to send for you!”

They had been together for nearly an hour when the door opened abruptly, and the young man whom Wolfenden had seen with Helène in the barouche entered the room. He stared in amazement at her, and rudely at Wolfenden. Helène rose and turned to him with a smile.

“Henri,” she said, “let me present to you the English gentleman whom I am going to marry. Prince Henri of Ortrens—Lord Wolfenden.”

The young man barely returned Wolfenden’s salute. He turned with flashing eyes to Helène and muttered a few hasty words in French—

“A kingdom and my betrothed in one day! It is too much! We will see!”

He left the room hurriedly. Helène laughed.

“He has gone to find the Duchess,” she said, “and there will be a scene! Let us go out in the Park.”

They walked about under the trees; suddenly they came face to face with Mr. Sabin. He was looking a little worn, but he was as carefully dressed as usual, and he welcomed them with a smile and an utter absence of any embarrassment.

“So soon!” he remarked pleasantly. “You Englishmen are as prompt in love as you are in war, Lord Wolfenden! It is an admirable trait.”

Helène laid her hand upon his arm. Yes, it was no fancy; his hair was greyer, and heavy lines furrowed his brow.

“Uncle,” she said, “believe me that I am sorry for you, though for myself—I am glad!”

He looked at her kindly, yet with a faint contempt.

“The Bourbon blood runs very slowly in your veins, child,” he said. “After all I begin to doubt whether you would have made a queen! As for myself—well, I am resigned. I am going to Pau, to play golf!”

“For how long, I wonder,” she said smiling, “will you be able to content yourself there?”

“For a month or two,” he answered; “until I have lost the taste of defeat. Then I have plans—but never mind; I will tell you later on. You will all hear of me again! So far as you two are concerned at any rate,” he added, “I have no need to reproach myself. My failure seems to have brought you happiness.”

He passed on, and they both watched his slim figure lost in the throng of passers-by.

“He is a great man,” she murmured. “He knows how to bear defeat.”

“He is a great man,” Wolfenden answered; “but none the less I am not sorry to see the last of Mr. Sabin!”