Yetive's eyes answered his enthusiasm. Both had a warm and grateful

memory of the loyal service which the young American had rendered his

friend when they had first come to Graustark in quest of the princess;

and both had a great regard for his wife, the Countess Dagmar, who, as

Yetive's lady in waiting, had been through all the perils of those

exciting days with them.

As they drew near the gates of Edelweiss, a large body of horsemen rode

forth to meet them. The afternoon was well on the way to night, and the

air of the valley was cool and refreshing, despite the rays of the June

sun.

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"Edelweiss at last," murmured Beverly, her face aglow. "The heart of

Graustark. Do you know that I have been brushing up on my grammar? I

have learned the meaning of the word 'Graustark,' and it seems so

appropriate. Grau is gray, hoary, old; stark is

strong. Old and strong--isn't it, dear?"

"And here rides the oldest and strongest man in all Graustark--the Iron

Count of Marlanx," said Yetive, looking down the road. "See--the strange

gray man in front there is our greatest general, our craftiest fighter,

our most heartless warrior. Does he not look like the eagle or the

hawk?"

A moment later the parties met, and the newcomers swung into line with

the escort. Two men rode up to the carriage and saluted. One was Count

Marlanx, the other Colonel Quinnox, of the Royal Guard. The count, lean

and gray as a wolf, revealed rows of huge white teeth in his perfunctory

smile of welcome, while young Quinnox's face fairly beamed with honest

joy. In the post that he held, he was but following in the footsteps of

his forefathers. Since history began in Graustark, a Quinnox had been in

charge of the castle guard.

The "Iron Count," as he sometimes was called, was past his sixtieth

year. For twenty years he had been in command of the army. One had but

to look at his strong, sardonic face to know that he was a fearless

leader, a savage fighter. His eyes were black, piercing and never quiet;

his hair and close-cropped beard were almost snow-white; his voice was

heavy and without a vestige of warmth. Since her babyhood Yetive had

stood in awe of this grim old warrior. It was no uncommon thing for

mothers to subdue disobedient children with the threat to give them over

to the "Iron Count." "Old Marlanx will get you if you're not good," was

a household phrase in Edelweiss. He had been married five times and as

many times had he been left a widower. If he were disconsolate in any

instance, no one had been able to discover the fact. Enormously rich, as

riches go in Graustark, he had found young women for his wives who

thought only of his gold and his lands in the trade they made with

Cupid. It was said that without exception they died happy. Death was a

joy. The fortress overlooking the valley to the south was no more rugged

and unyielding than the man who made his home within its walls. He lived

there from choice and it was with his own money that he fitted up the

commandant's quarters in truly regal style. Power was more to him than

wealth, though he enjoyed both.




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