PAGE 5
The Scapegoats
by
“Still,” she pointed out, “I would like to see a king. Simply because I never have done so before, you conceive.”
“At times, my Nelchen, you are effeminate. Eve ate the apple for that identical reason. Yet what you say is odd, because–do you know?–I once had a friend who was by way of being a sort of king.”
Nelchen gave a squeal of delight. “And you never told me about him! I loathe you.”
Louis Quillan did what seemed advisable. “–and, furthermore, your loathsomeness is no excuse for rumpling my hair,” said Nelchen, by and by.
“But there is so little to tell. His father had married the Grand Duke of Noumaria’s daughter,–over yonder between Silesia and Badenburg, you may remember. And so last spring when the Grand Duke and the Prince were both killed in that horrible fire, my friend quite unexpectedly became a king–oh, king of a mere celery-patch, but still a sort of king. Figure to yourself, Nelchen! they were going to make my poor friend marry the Elector of Badenburg’s daughter,–and Victoria von Uhm has perfection stamped upon her face in all its odious immaculacy,–and force him to devote the rest of his existence to heading processions and reviewing troops, and signing proclamations, and guzzling beer and sauerkraut. Why, he would have been like Ovid among the Goths, my Nelchen!”
“But he could have worn such splendid uniforms!” said Nelchen. “And diamonds!”
“You mercenary wretch!” said he. Louis Quillan then did what seemed advisable; and presently he added, “In any event, the horrified man ran away.”
“That was silly of him,” said Nelchen Thorn. “But where did he run to?”
Louis Quillan considered. “To Paradise,” he at last decided. “And there he found a disengaged angel, who very imprudently lowered herself to the point of marrying him. And so he lived happily ever afterward. And so, till the day of his death, he preached the doctrine that silliness is the supreme wisdom.”
“And he regretted nothing?” Nelchen said, after a meditative while.
Louis Quillan began to laugh. “Oh, yes! at times he profoundly regretted Victoria von Uhm.”
Then Nelchen gave him a surprise, for the girl bent toward him and leaned one hand upon each shoulder. “Diamonds are not all, are they, Louis? I thank you, dear, for telling me of what means so much to you. I can understand, I think, because for a long while I have tried to know and care for everything that concerns you.”
The little man had risen to his feet. “Nelchen–!”
“Hush!” said Nelchen Thorn; “Monseigneur is coming down to his supper.”
II
It was a person of conspicuous appearance, both by reason of his great height and leanness as well as his extreme age, who now descended the straight stairway leading from the corridor above. At Court they would have told you that the Prince de G�tinais was a trifle insane, but he troubled the Court very little, since he had spent the last twenty years, with brief intermissions, at his ch�teau near Beaujolais, where, as rumor buzzed it, he had fitted out a laboratory, and had devoted his old age to the study of chemistry. “Between my flute and my retorts, my bees and my chocolate-creams,” the Prince was wont to say, “I manage to console myself for the humiliating fact that even Death has forgotten my existence.” For he had a child’s appetite for sweets, and was at this time past eighty, though still well-nigh as active as Antoine de Soyecourt had ever been, even when–a good half-century ago–he had served, with distinction under Louis Quatorze.
To-night the Prince de G�tinais was all in steel-gray, of a metallic lustre, with prodigiously fine ruffles at his throat and wrists. You would have found something spectral in the tall, gaunt old man, for his periwig was heavily powdered, and his deep-wrinkled countenance was of an absolute white, save for the thin, faintly bluish lips and the inklike glitter of his narrowing eyes, as he now regarded the couple waiting hand in hand before him, like children detected in mischief.