“You speak of impossibilities.”
“But if they were not impossibilities?”
“In such a case I should do as other men do—spend the rest of life in trying to forget a lost ideal.”
“I thank your Majesty. That is all I ask. I suppose you will continue your journey?”
“Yes, as far as Felgarde, where I hope to find Lady Mowbray and her daughter.”
“Then, your Majesty, when I’ve expressed my gratitude for your forebearance—even though I’ve failed to be convincing—I’ll trouble you no longer.”
The Chancellor rose, painfully, with a reminiscence of gout, and Leopold stared at him in surprise. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“Only that, as I can do no further good here, with your permission, I will get out at the station we are coming into, and go back home again.”
The Emperor realized, what he had not noticed until this moment, that the train was slackening speed as it approached the suburbs of a town. His conversation with the Chancellor had lasted for an hour, and he was far from regretting the prospect of being left in peace. More than once he had come perilously near to losing his temper, forgetting his gratitude and the old man’s years. How much longer he could have held out under a continued strain of provocation, he did not know; so he spoke no word of dissuasion when Count von Breitstein picked up his soft hat and buttoned the gray coat for departure.