The Golden Bough

"You are mistaken," broke in the Swiss quite coolly, "You are Herr General Graf von Stromberg, Head of the military sections of the Imperial German Secret Service, Geheimrath, Privy Councilor of his Majesty, Emperor William II." He took two steps toward the brass rail and pointed, "But your power-your authority-ends yonder-a mile away. If you are unfamiliar with the treaties-with the law which governs the Bodensee, Herr Lieutnant Zapp will doubtless enlighten you, on your way back to Lindau."

"You are impudent, sir."

"I am merely obedient to those who command me."

"Those who command you, shall command your dismissal."

"This is not Prussia, Excellency. Not while I do my duty."

Von Stromberg glared at the boy as though he would have liked to strangle him.

"Do you realize that the money which these prisoners have looted belongs to citizens of Germany?"

"That is a matter which the courts will determine," said the Swiss lightly.

Von Stromberg shrugged and laughed unpleasantly.

"You are a very foolish young man."

Then after a moment of hesitation he took a pace forward, catching Hoffmeier by the arm and walking a few paces along the deck with him, whispering.

In the midst of the conversation the Swiss suddenly flung away.

"Bribery!" he cried hotly. "You've found the wrong man, Excellency. I will give you one minute to leave my ship, or I will take you to Switzerland and intern you."

And walking to the gangway he pointed down to where the visiting boat lay, the men at their oars.

"Your boat awaits you, Herr Lieutnant Zapp. I bid you good morning, Excellency."

Von Stromberg scowled, bit his lip and scowled again, but he followed his lieutenant down the ladder and silently entered the boat, wrapping himself in his great cape and was rowed away.

Lieutnant Hoffmeier mounted to the bridge and gave the orders for full speed ahead. Then he leaned over the rail and watched the small craft approach the German patrol-boat.

"Sacred pig of a Prussian bully. On my own quarterdeck, too! Tish!"

And he spat to leeward.

For three weeks Rowland had lain in the hospital at Rorschach, unaware of the storm that had raged about his bed. For a week he had been between life and death, for the bullet of Herr Hochwald had passed through his right lung and embedded itself between the ribs at his side. But careful nursing and the ministrations of an excellent surgeon had pulled him through, and the danger point had long since passed. Modern firearms, unless they kill outright, are not necessarily fatal, and modern surgery, almost an exact science, is on the side of strong constitutions. And so Rowland, the bullet removed, was now convalescent, sitting in a wonderful arm-chair, by a sunny window, looking out across the lake that had come so near being his grave, toward the Bavarian shore, where in the distance he could just see the dim outlines of the island of Lindau rising from the water.

Tanya had been to see him twice, Shestov once, each for a few moments only, in the presence of his nurse, and yesterday Tanya had told him that all was going well-that influence had been brought to bear at Berne by Shestov, Barthou and the Swiss Councilors of Nemi, and that the money of the Society which he had fought so hard to bring back was in the way of being restored to its rightful Trustees. Tanya was coming to visit him again this morning and he had been promised a half hour with her alone. Thus it was that the sun of the morning seemed so bright and the cloud-flecked sky so blue. Also he had shaved and was conscious of a supreme sense of well being.

She came to him, all in white (as became a bride), looking extraordinarily handsome, radiant with happiness and glowing with the joy of his recovery. The nurse, who was a discreet person, smiled at them both and withdrew.

He held out his arms and without a word she came into them, kneeling.

"Philippe," she murmured, "you are sure that you are getting well? It seems-"

"Right as rain. The cough has stopped. In a week I'll be as strong as ever. And then-"

He paused and she raised her lips to his, flushing adorably.

"And then-?"

She knew what he wanted to say, but she wanted him to say it.

"You and I-Tanya-my wife."

"Whenever you wish, Philippe Rowlan'," she murmured.

"Today?" he urged.

"Whenever you wish. We have won life together."

He was silent in a moment of soberness.

"We have a great work to do, Tanya."

"Yes. We shall do it-together. Russia!" Her voice sank. "Oh, mon Philippe-my country-the cause seems so hopeless-anarchy-nothing less-"

"Order will follow-reason-regeneration-"

"Honor cannot come from dishonor. Russia is false-a Judas among the nations-"

Rowland laughed. "Cheer up, my princess. Wave your wand and all will yet be well."

"My wand! A reed, Philippe-broken. I have never felt so weak-so powerless."

"But never have you been so strong-for in you I have already found new strength, – new power-authority. But there must be no more mediævalism in Nemi, Tanya. I have been thinking much. I have learned something in Germany … We must make a new fight-for the people yonder. They are not ready yet, but soon-soon. In the meanwhile we can work secretly. Our giant with a hundred arms has only been groping in the darkness. But he has a giant's strength… He shall use it. If you and I alone against Von Stromberg-all Germany-can emerge victorious … we can win again and again. We have given the first blow and are unharmed. There are rumors of strikes-you have heard? There will be other strikes-more blood shed-until the people of Germany arise in their might. A dream? Perhaps. But it is a good dream-for France, for England and America. But of one thing I am resolved-that the Society of Nemi shall not pass into the hands of the enemies of our allies-"

"God forbid. Hochwald-"

"Others will come-like him-from Russia-from Germany. But they shall not win-for we will know them."

"But if you are interned-?"

"They know nothing of my service in the French army. I shall not tell them. Barthou hopes for my full freedom."

"I was almost hoping-" she paused and pressed his hand gently.

"What?"

"That they would intern you. I am afraid of danger, now, Philippe. I never was before. The legend-"

"There shall be no more legends."

He laughed, kissing her hands gently.

"And yet after all was it not a legend that brought me Princess Tatyana?"

"But she is here to guard you against danger, Philippe Rowlan'. Death seems to me so much the more terrible now that Life and happiness stretch before us both… Poor Zoya!"

"And Markov. But they went together-as he would have wished."

She hid her face in her hands.

"Together? Yes. I can never forget him… Never."

"Nor I."

"She … loved you, Philippe-" she whispered.

He was silent, thinking. And then-

"She did what she could-to atone. One is judged, I think-by one's whole life, Tanya-not a part of it. Her record is finished, but its last item is the most important. She paid … in blood," he finished soberly.

"And Grisha Khodkine-he too-"

Rowland shrugged. "He was game-" he muttered.

She took from her hand bag some papers, much wrinkled, soiled and water-stained.

"His dossier-"

"We'll hardly need it now-"

He caught her hands in his and the papers fell to the floor, papers once so significant and now merely-soiled papers.

"We have now this moment, Tanya. Let us forget-everything else. Later we will give for others. Now we will take-for ourselves."

"It is too wonderful to be true-"

"Like the fairy tale. Listen and I will tell it to you. Once upon a time, there was a very small boy who lived in a very large house in a very noisy city. And there came to him in his dreams a wonderful fairy who carried a wand with a star at its end which had the property of making all good things come true. Her name was Princess Tatyana and he loved her, for she was very, very beautiful-"

Tanya laid her fingers across his lips.

"Is not our own fairy story more beautiful than this?"

He kissed her fingers and then, since her lips were near, took them too, for fairy tales, beautiful as they may be, are after all, mere creatures of dreams. And Tanya's lips were very real…

THE END