"But my cousin can only make a weak Queen at the best."
"My dear Prince, her weakness will be the strength of the country. Our great object is not so much to change the person of the ruler as to break the traditions of the ruler's power—to put on the throne some one whose title will rest, not on any right divine, but on the people's power and will and choice. A woman will thus be far more dependent on the people than a man. Prince, the countess cannot draw back."
"But supposing she were willing to acquiesce in the election of the Ostenburg heir, and thus unite all sections of the people?"
"It is impossible, equally impossible!" he exclaimed readily. "It would be a betrayal of us all. It is not to be thought of."
I sat as if thinking this over, but in truth this prompt rejection of the means to do fairly what I knew he was plotting to do by foul had filled me with anger.
"And what would be the immediate consequences of a withdrawal?" I asked.
"Do you mean the personal consequences to the countess and yourself?" he asked, with a suggestion of contempt for such a consideration.
"I mean to all concerned."
"What could but be the consequences where three-fourths of a nation had been worked up to desire a revolution and found themselves cheated at the last moment by the—the timorousness of those in whose name and for whose sake the whole movement has been carried out? The badge of cowardice is a hard one to bear, Prince, and the anger of a disappointed people would not lighten the disgrace."
"We are no cowards, Baron Heckscher," I replied warmly, as if stung by his taunt.