# Sophy of Kravonia/Part 3/Chapter 8

VIII
MONSEIGNEUR'S UNIFORM
DR. NATCHEFF amply reassured public opinion. What information he gave to General Stenovics, his friend, is another matter, and remained locked in that statesman's heart. Publicly and to everybody else, from the Prince of Slavna downward, he declared that there was no ground for apprehension, and that the King merely needed rest and change; after a few days of the former it was proposed to seek the latter by moving the Court to His Majesty's country-seat at Dobrava—that estate from which Sophy had been graciously bidden to choose her title. Meanwhile, there was no reason why the Prince should not carry out his intention, and proceed to the Castle of Praslok.
Below Slavna, the main post-road—as has already been stated, there was no railway at this time—follows the course of the River Krath for about five miles in a southeasterly direction. It is then carried across the stream (which continues to trend to the south) by an ancient wooden bridge, and runs northeast for another fifteen miles, through flat country, and past prosperous agricultural and pastoral villages, till it reaches the marshy land bordering Lake Talti. The lake, extending from this point to the spurs of the mountain-range which forms the frontier, bars its farther direct progress, and it ​divides into two branches. The right prong of the fork continues on the level till it reaches Dobrava, eight miles from the point of bisection; here it inclines to the northeast again, and, after some ten miles of steady ascent, crosses the mountains by St. Peter's Pass, the one carriage - road over the range and over the frontier. The left prong becomes a steep ascent directly the bisection has occurred, rising sharply for five miles to the hill on which the Castle of Praslok stands. Then it runs for another five miles on a high plateau till it ends at the hill city of Volseni, which stands on the edge of the plateau, looking down on Lake Talti and across to Dobrava in the plain opposite.
Beyond Volseni there is no road in the proper sense, but only cart or bridle- tracks. Of these the principal and most frequented runs diagonally across the valley in which Lake Talti lies, is interrupted by the lake (at that point about a mile and a half wide), and then meets the road from Dobrava halfway up St. Peter's Pass, and about twenty miles across-country from Volseni. It thus forms the base of a rough and irregular triangle of country, with the point where the Slavna road bisects, the Pass and Volseni marking its three angles. Lake Talti is set in the middle, backed by a chain of hills continuous everywhere except at the indentation of the Pass.
Though so near to Slavna in actual distance, the country is very different from the fertile river-valley which surrounds the capital; it is bleak and rough, a land of hill pastures and mountain woods. Its natural features are reflected in the character of the inhabitants. The men who count Volseni a local capital are hardier than the men of Slavna, less given to luxury, less addicted to quarrels and riots, but ​considerably more formidable opponents if once they take up arms. For this reason, no less than on account, of their devotion to him, the Prince did well to choose this country as the recruiting-ground for his new force of gunners.
The Prince had been at Praslok for a week when Sophy set out to join him there. At the last moment, Zerkovitch decided to remain in Slavna, at least until the Court made its promised move to Dobrava: reassuring as Dr. Natcheff was, it would do no harm to have a friendly pair of eyes and ears in the capital so long as the King remained in residence. Thus the two ladies were accompanied only by Peter Vassip, whom the Prince had sent to escort them. They set out in a heavy travelling-carriage at ten in the morning, reckoning to reach the Castle before evening fell; their progress would never be rapid, and for the last five miles exceedingly slow. They left the capital in complete tranquillity, and when Sophy settled her bill at the sign of the Silver Cock, and bade farewell to old Meyerstein, her landlord, he expressed the hope that she would soon be back, though, indeed, his poor house was, he feared, no fit quarters for the Baroness Dobrava.
"I don't know whether I shall come back here, but I can never forget your house. I shall always love it in my memory," said Sophy.
Max von Hollbrandt had obtained leave of absence from his Legation, and had accompanied the Prince to Praslok. The two were friends, having many tastes in common, and not least the taste for soldiering. Besides having the pleasure of his company, the Prince looked to obtain valuable aid from Max in the task on which he was engaged. The young German was amused and delighted with his ​expedition. Praslok is a primitive old place. It stands on an abrupt mound, or knob, of ground by the roadside. So steep and sudden is the ascent, that it was necessary to build a massive causeway of wood—an inclined plane—to lead up from the road to the gate of the square tower which forms the front of the building; the causeway has cross-bars at short intervals, to give foothold to the horses which, in old days, were stabled within the walls. Recently, however, modern stables had been built on the other side of the road, and it had become the custom to mount the causeway and enter the Castle on foot.
Within, the arrangements were quaint and very simple. Besides the tower already mentioned, which contained the dining-room and two bedrooms above it, the whole building, strictly conditioned by the shape of the hill on which it stood, consisted of three rows of small rooms on the ground-floor. In one row lived the Prince and his male guests, in the second the servants, in the third the guard. The ladies were to be accommodated in the tower above the dining-room. The rows of rooms opened on a covered walk or cloister, which ran round the inner court of the Castle. The whole was solidly built of gray stone—a business-like old hill-fortress, strong by reason of its massive masonry and of the position in which it stood. Considered as a modern residence—it had to be treated humorously—so Max declared, and found much pleasure in it from that point of view. The Prince, always indifferent to physical comfort, and ever averse from luxury, probably did not realize how much his ancestral stronghold demanded of his guests' indulgence. Old Vassip, Peter's father, was major-domo—always in his sheepskin coat and high boots. His old wife was cook. Half a dozen ​servants completed the establishment, and of these three were grooms. The horses, in fact, seemed to Max the only creatures whose comforts were at all on a modern footing. But the Prince was entirely satisfied, and never so happy anywhere as at Praslok. He loved the simple, hardy life; he loved even more, though perhaps less consciously, the sense of being among friends. He would not yield an inch to court popularity in Slavna; but his heart went out to meet the unsought devotion of Volseni, the mountain town, and its surrounding villages. Distant and self-restrained in Slavna, here he was open, gay, and full of an almost boyish ardor.
"It's worth coming here, just to see its effect on you," Max told him, as the two rode back together from Volseni on the day of Sophy's arrival. They had been at work, and the recruiting promised well. The Prince laughed gayly. "Coming here from Slavna is like fresh air after an oven," he said. "No need to watch your tongue—or other people's! You can laugh when you like, and frown when you like, without a dozen people asking what's your motive for doing it."
"But, really, you shouldn't have chosen a diplomatist for your companion, sir, if you feel like that."
"I haven't," he smiled. "I've left the diplomatist down there and brought the soldier up. And now that the ladies are coming—"
"Ah, now we must watch our tongues a little bit! Madame Zerkovitch is very pretty and the Baroness might make me absolutely poetical!"
Least prying of men, yet Max von Hollbrandt could not resist sending with this speech a glance at his companion—the visit of the Baroness compelled ​this much tribute to curiosity. But the Prince's face was a picture of unembarrassed pleasure.
"Then be poetical! We'll all be poetical!" he cried, merrily. "In the intervals of drilling, be it understood!" he added, with a laugh.
Into this atmosphere, physical and moral—the exhilaration of keen mountain breezes, the brightness of a winter sun, the play of high hopes and of high spirit—came Sophy, with all her power of enjoying and her ardor in imagining. Her mind leaped from the sad embraces of the past, to fly to the arms of the present, to beckon gladly to the future. No more than this had yet emerged into consciousness; she was not yet asking how, for good or evil, she stood or was to stand towards the Prince. Fortune had done wonderful things for her, and was doing more yet. That was enough, and beyond that, for the moment, she was not driven.
The mixture of poetry and drilling suited her to perfection. She got both when she rode over to Volseni with the Prince. Crisp snow covered the ground, and covered, too, the roofs of the old, gray, hill-side city—long, sloping roofs, with here and there a round-tower with a snow-clad extinguisher atop. The town was no more than one long street, which bayed out at the farther end into a market-place. It stood with its back against a mountain-side, defended on the other three sides by a sturdy wall, which only now, after five centuries, began to crumble away at the top.
At the city-gate bread and salt were brought to the Bailiff and his companion, and she and he rode side by side down the long street to the marketplace. Here were two or three hundred, tall, fine fellows, waiting their leader. Drill had not yet brought ​formality; on the sight of him they gave a cheer and ran to form a ring about him. Many caught his hand and pressed or kissed it. But Sophy, too, claimed their eyes. It was very cold; she wore a short jacket of sable over her habit, and a round cap of the same fur—gifts of Lady Meg's in the days of her benevolence. She was at the pitch of pleasure and excitement.
In a moment, a quick-witted fellow divined who she was. " The lady who saved him! The lady who saved him!" he cried, at the full pitch of his voice. The Prince drew himself up in the saddle and saluted her. "Yes, the lady who saved me," he said. Sophy had the cheers now, and they mounted to her head with fumes of intoxication. It may be guessed how the Red Star glowed!
"And you'll save him, if need be?" she cried— quite indiscreetly. The Prince smiled and shook his head, but the answer was an enraptured cheer. The hatred of Slavna was a recommendation to Volseni's increased regard, the hint of danger a match to its fiery enthusiasm.
"A favor, Bailiff, a favor!" cried a young man of distinguished appearance. He seemed to be well known and to carry weight, for there were shouts of "Hear Lukovitch! Hear Lukovitch!"—and one called, with a laugh: "Ay, listen to the Wolf!"
" What is it, Lukovitch?" asked the Prince.
"Make the lady of our company, Bailiff." New cheers were raised. "Make her a lieutenant of our artillery."
Sophy laughed gayly.
"I have His Majesty's authority to choose my officers," said the Prince, smiling. "Baroness, will you be a lieutenant, and wear our sheepskins in place of your sables there?"
​"It is your uniform, Monseigneur," Sophy answered, bowing her head.
Lukovitch sprang forward and kissed her hand.
"For our Bailiff's preserver as for our Bailiff, men of Volseni!" he cried, loudly. The answering cheer brought tears to Sophy's sparkling eyes. For a moment she could not see her Prince nor the men who thus took her to their hearts.
Suddenly, in the midst of her exultation, she saw a face on the outskirts of the throng. A small, spare man stood there, dressed in unobtrusive tweeds, but making no effort to conceal himself; he was just looking on, a stranger to the town, interested in the picturesque little scene. The face was that of Lieutenant Rastatz.
She watched the drilling of the gunners, and then rode back with the Prince, escorted beyond the gates by a cheering throng, which had now been joined by many women. Dusk was falling, and the old, gray city took on a ghostly look; the glory of the sunshine had departed. Sophy shivered a little beneath her furs.
"Monseigneur, did you see Rastatz?" she asked.
"No, I didn't see him; but I knew he was here. Lukovitch told me yesterday."
"And not in uniform!"
"He has leave, no doubt, and his uniform wouldn't make his stay in Volseni any more pleasant."
"What's he there for?" she asked, fretfully.
"Ah, Baroness, you must inquire of those who sent him, I think." His tone was light and merry.
"To spy on you, I suppose! I hate his being there. He—he isn't worthy to be in dear Volseni."
"You and Volseni have fallen in love with each other, I see! As for spying, all I'm doing I do openly, ​and all I shall do. But I don't blame Stenovics for keeping an eye on me, or Stafnitz either. I do my best to keep an eye on them, you know. We needn't be afraid of Rastatz, we who have beaten Hercules Mistitch in open fight!"
"Oh, well, away with him!" cried Sophy. "The snow's not frozen—shall we canter home, Monseigneur?"
Merrily they cantered through the fast falling evening, side by side. Rastatz was out of mind now; all was out of mind save the fascination of the crisp air, the silent suggestion of gathering night, her Prince who rode beside her. The dark mass of the tower of Praslok rose too soon before her unwilling eyes. She drew rein, sighing.
"If life were just all that and nothing else!" she said, as he helped her to dismount and the grooms took the horses. She stopped half-way up the steep wooden causeway and turned to look back towards Volseni. The Prince stood close by her.
"That's good, but life has better things," he said, softly. "To ride together is good, and to play together. But to work together is better still, Baroness."
For a moment Sophy was silent. Then she laughed in joy.
"Well, I'm to wear your uniform henceforth, Monseigneur!"
He took her hand and kissed it. Very slowly and gradually she drew it away, her eyes meeting his as he raised his head. The heavy door at the top of the causeway opened; Marie Zerkovitch stood there, holding a lamp high in her hand; the sudden light flooded their faces. For a moment more he looked at her, then went down again on his way to the stables. Sophy ran up to where Marie Zerkovitch stood.
​"You heard our horses?" she asked, gayly.
But there was no responsive smile on Marie's lips. For her, too, the light had shone on those two faces, and she was sorely troubled.
The next day again they rode together, and the next. On the third day, Sophy rode into Volseni in the sheepskin cap and tunic, a short habit of blue hiding her leather breeches and coming half-way over her long boots. The Prince gave her his hand as they rode into the market-place.
Marie Zerkovitch trembled, Max von Hollbrandt shrugged his shoulders with a laugh—and little Rastatz drove back to Slavna through the night. He thought that he had seen enough for his purposes; his report might be useful in the city on the Krath.