Ophelia meantime was playing her game well. She judged—and judged rightly—that the conduct of the king in throwing himself at her feet, in allowing her to sit upon him as if he were a chair or stool, and in afterwards meekly following her to the head of the table, would be attributed to nothing else than devoted love by a great many of those who were present, and especially by such as had not been near enough to witness his first outburst of anger, or to hear his first words, which had certainly not been those of affection.
This idea would be speedily followed by another, when the guests saw her seated on one side of the Chief Justice and King Famcram on the other.
What could it mean save that she was about to be raised to the highest dignity in the kingdom, and to share the throne and power of Famcram as his queen?
This was in fact the resolution which she had formed, and determined to omit no precaution which might ensure its success. So she sat and ate at the banquet, already looking and feeling like a queen, and her device fully succeeded in making the people believe that things were as she desired.
But all this would be insufficient without some public avowal on the part of the king, and she resolved that this should be given.
Presently, therefore, she leant forward across her father, and, steadily looking Famcram in the face, thus addressed him:—
"King, your wish—the anxious wish of your heart—shall be gratified. I consent to become your queen, and you may at once announce the happy tidings to this august assembly."
As she said these words, the luckless Famcram turned quite red in the face, and there was visibly another struggle within his breast between contending passions. This struggle lasted longer than the first, and not only did he make no sign of acquiescence to the lady's proposal, but there were those who afterwards declared that they heard—deep and low like the sound of fire struggling to burst loose from walls within which it is enclosed—a sepulchral voice within the king which muttered the words—"I don't want any queen."
But, whether such words were spoken or not, Ophelia was equal to the occasion.
"Jam, dear, did you say?" she asked in her most winning tones, and in another second the salt-spoon was out, and a portion of the contents of the little jar transferred without delay to the king's mouth, whilst in a low, determined voice, the maiden continued, speaking in tones which could scarcely be heard by anyone save the king himself and the Chief Justice.