Havoc | Page 5

so," Dorward admitted, "I don't care so long as I get the copy.
It's good-bye, I suppose?"
Bellamy nodded.
"I shall go on to Berlin, perhaps, to-morrow," he said. "I can do no
more good here. And you?"
"After I've sent my cable I'm off to Belgrade for a week, at any rate,"
Dorward answered. "I hear the women are forming rifle clubs all

through Servia."
Bellamy smiled thoughtfully.
"I know one who'll want a place among the leaders," he murmured.
"Mademoiselle Idiale, I suppose?"
Bellamy assented.
"It's a queer position hers, if you like," he said. "All Vienna raves about
her. They throng the Opera House every night to hear her sing, and they
pay her the biggest salary which has ever been known here. Three parts
of it she sends to Belgrade to the Chief of the Committee for National
Defence. The jewels that are sent her anonymously go to the same
place, all to buy arms to fight these people who worship her. I tell you,
Dorward," he added, rising to his feet and walking to the window, "the
patriotism of these people is something we colder races scarcely
understand. Perhaps it is because we have never dwelt under the
shadow of a conqueror. If ever Austria is given a free hand, it will be
no mere war upon which she enters, - it will be a carnage, an
extermination!"
Dorward looked once more at the clock and rose slowly to his feet.
"Well," he said, "I mustn't keep His Excellency waiting. Good-bye, and
cheer up, Bellamy! Your old country isn't going to turn up her heels
yet."
Out he went - long, lank, uncouth, with yellow-stained fingers and
hatchet-shaped, gray face - a strange figure but yet a power. Bellamy
remained. For a while he seemed doubtful how to pass the time. He
stood in front of the window, watching the dispersal of the crowds and
the marching by of a regiment of soldiers, whose movements he
followed with critical interest, for he, too, had been in the service. He
had still a military bearing, - tall, and with complexion inclined to be
dusky, a small black moustache, dark eyes, a silent mouth, - a man of
many reserves. Even his intimates knew little of him. Nevertheless, his

was the reticence which befitted well his profession.
After a time he sat down and wrote some letters. He had just finished
when there came a sharp tap at the door. Before he could open his lips
some one had entered. He heard the soft swirl of draperies and turned
sharply round, then sprang to his feet and held out both his hands.
There was expression in his face now - as much as he ever suffered to
appear there.
"Louise!" he exclaimed. "What good fortune!"
She held his fingers for a moment in a manner which betokened a more
than common intimacy. Then she threw herself into an easy-chair and
raised her thick veil. Bellamy looked at her for a moment in sorrowful
silence. There were violet lines underneath her beautiful eyes, her
cheeks were destitute of any color. There was an abandonment of grief
about her attitude which moved him. She sat as one broken-spirited, in
whom the power of resistance was dead.
"It is over, then," she said softly, "this meeting. The word has been
spoken."
He came and stood by her side.
"As yet," he reminded her, "we do not know what that word may be."
She shook her head mournfully.
"Who can doubt?" she exclaimed. "For myself, I feel it in the air! I can
see it in the faces of the people who throng the city! I can hear it in the
peals of those awful bells! You know nothing? You have heard
nothing?"
Bellamy shook his head.
"I did all that was humanly possible," he said, dropping his voice. "An
Englishman in Vienna to-day has very little opportunity. I filled the
Palace with spies, but they hadn't a dog's chance. There wasn't even a

secretary present. The Czar, the two Emperors and the Chancellor, - not
another soul was in the room."
"If only Von Behrling had been taken!" she exclaimed. "He was there
in reserve, I know, as stenographer. I have but to lift my hand and it is
enough. I would have had the truth from him, whatever it cost me."
Bellamy looked at her thoughtfully. It was not for nothing that the
Press of every European nation had called her the most beautiful
woman in the world. He frowned slightly at her last words, for he loved
her.
"Von Behrling was not even allowed to cross the threshold," he said
sharply.
She moved her head and looked up at him. She was leaning a little
forward now, her chin resting upon