Majesty—it was a word befitting that memorable figure, which had been buffeted by the storms of eighty years and was still unconquered. There was something epic about it—Homeric—so that one forgot its follies and its sins, and remembered only its gallantry.
“Yes, and my grandson shall be king after me,” he went on, with an irate eye upon Danilo; “and after him my great-grandson. Whether they reign or not, that is in the hands of providence; but they shall be kings none the less. For kingship is not a thing that one can lay down at will; it is something that one is born, as one is born a man. It is one’s blood.”
A certain anxiety might have been discerned in the attentive Lappo’s eye. He knew his king—he knew the smallest corner of his mind—and he feared perhaps that he might become too expansive with the warmth of the wine—might go on to Divine Right and heaven-sent prerogative. At any rate he coughed rather markedly.
And the king, who also knew his Lappo, understood. He emptied his glass and rose.
“It is time we joined the ladies,” he said.
“One moment, sir,” interjected Selden. “I realize that I am a guest here to-night; I appreciate very deeply the confidence you have shown me and the candour with which you have spoken. I ask you, therefore, how much of this you would wish me to use.”
“Why, all of it, my friend!” cried the king. “How little you understand me! All of it!”
“Thank you, sir,” said Selden, and glanced at his watch. “In that case, I must be making my adieux.”
“Certainly,” said the king; “but I count upon seeing you soon again. You wish to speak to me?” he added to Danilo, for the prince, who had grown more and more distrait during this apologia, had risen and come close to his side.
He spoke for a moment earnestly in the king’s ear, and again Selden saw overspreading the royal features the same cloud he had noticed once before that evening. Nevertheless the king listened patiently until the prince had finished, then, with an impatient shake of the head, waved him away.