“I think I guessed yesterday.”
“That he loved you?” Johann spoke triumphantly. “Well, then, what do you think of it? Supposing he were not the King, should you be willing to accept him?”
Silence. That cover seemed to require a great deal of brightening. There must even have been spots on it, for Dorothea’s face was bent so closely down to it that Johann could not see how she received his question.
The clumsy ambassador thought he could take silence for consent. Stepping a little outside the bounds of his instructions in his confidence, he said—
“Well, perhaps before very long you may find that he will ask you to be his wife!”
He spoke in the tone of one who expects to produce a sensation. But he was destined to be disappointed. Dorothea received his intimation with strange calmness, and did not even interrupt her labours for more than an instant.
He felt driven to remonstrate with her.
“Come, you take it very coolly. Do you mean to say that you anticipated this?”
“I hardly know. But it makes no difference. I shall not marry the King.”
“What! What do you say?” His astonishment passed into rebuke. “Be serious. Put down that miserable thing, and consider what you are saying. You do not seem to understand. He will make you Queen of Franconia.”