"Sit down," he said gruffly, flinging aside an envelope postmarked Abruzzia. "I shall be ready to talk with you in a minute."
Otto took the least uncomfortable chair in the Room—which was saying but little in its favour, as the newest article of furniture there had been made a hundred years before the world understood the luxury of lounging. Over the high mantel hung a silver shield, so brightly polished as to perform the office of a mirror. From where Otto sat, rigid and upright, he could see himself vignetted in reflection. He admired his complexion, which was like a girl's; pointed the ends of his fair moustache with nervous cigarette-stained fingers and wondered ruefully which of his pleasant peccadilloes had buzzed to Eberhard's ears. Half unconsciously his gaze turned from his own agreeable image to the outer page of the letter, held in a hand so veined that it resembled a surface of rock covered with the sprawling roots of old 137 trees. Otto had just time to recognize the writing as that of the Crown Prince of Abruzzia, whom he had met, when a pair of keen eyes, curtained with wrinkled lids, peered over the crested sheet of paper.
"It's coming," thought Otto. "What can the old curmudgeon have found out?"
But, to his surprise, the Chancellor's first words had no connection with him or his misdeeds.
"So Maximilian is amusing himself at Lynarberg?" the old man grunted.
Otto's face visibly brightened. He was not clever or full of resources, and he would always prefer discussing the affairs of others with this elder brother, rather than his own. "Oh, yes," he answered alertly. "His Majesty seems to be amusing himself uncommonly well. But you, Eberhard! Tell me of yourself. You sent for me. Your gout——"
"The devil run away with my gout!"
Otto started. "I devoutly wish he would, so he left you behind," he retorted—meaning exactly the opposite, as he usually did when talking with the Chancellor. "But——"
"Don't tell me you supposed I had sent for you that I might have the 138 pleasure of your condolences?"
"No-o," laughed Otto. "I fancied there was another reason; but I am bound in common politeness to take your sincerity for granted until you undeceive me."