At the door of the Council-room, the guards would have stopped her, but the imperious woman literally thrust them aside, and forced her way into the room.
The whole of the Councillors staying in the Castle were present. But there was one addition to the number assembled on the last occasion, a man whom Hermengarde had never seen before, tall, dark, with iron-grey hair, and an expression of the most profound melancholy on his countenance. He sat in a chair at the head of the Council table, with the old Chancellor on his right hand, and had just finished affixing his signature to a parchment when the Princess burst in upon them.
At first this personage clearly failed to recognise the Princess. But the Chancellor leant over and whispered in his ear. He at once rose, the other Councillors following his example.
“Come in, Madam,” he said gravely. “We were about to send to desire your presence. Will you take that seat.” And he pointed to one near himself.
“What does all this mean?” demanded Hermengarde, disdaining the proffered seat. “I do not know who you are, sir.”
“My name is Frederick von Astolf. You have perhaps heard of me as the Count von Eisenheim.”
Hermengarde turned pale, and gazed blankly around her. Still she preserved her wrathful tone.
“I presume you have a right to be here, as a Privy Councillor, my lord. But why has the Council met without my authority?”
The Count von Eisenheim turned to the Chancellor, with a glance signifying a desire that he should answer the question. Von Sigismark eagerly complied, and his voice had in it a ring of a long-suppressed resentment.
“It is my duty, Madam, as Chancellor, to call the Council together on a demise of the crown, in order to proclaim the new sovereign. In this case, moreover, we had also to appoint a Regent.”