CHAPTER XVII
THE OLDNESS OF THE CHANCELLOR
Leopold thought it more than possible that, by the time of his return to Kronburg, the Chancellor would be as anxious to wriggle out of his proposal to visit the Prince’s hunting lodge, as he had been to have it accepted a few hours before.
“He sha’n’t escape his humiliation, though,” the Emperor told himself. “He shall go, and he shall beg forgiveness for his suspicions, in sackcloth and ashes. Nothing else can satisfy me now.”
Thinking thus, Leopold looked sharply from the window as his special slowed into the central station at Kronburg, along the track which had been kept clear for its arrival. No other train was due at the moment, therefore few persons were on the platform, and a figure in a long gray coat, with its face shadowed by a slouch hat, was conspicuous.
The Emperor had expected to see that figure; but vaguely he wished there were not so much briskness and self-confidence in the set of the massive head and shoulders. The young man believed absolutely in his love; but he would have been gratified to detect a something of depression in the enemy’s air, which he might translate as a foreknowledge of failure.
“I hope your Majesty will forgive the liberty I have taken, in coming to the station without a distinct invitation to do so,” were the Chancellor’s first words as he met the Emperor. “Knowing that you would almost certainly arrive by special train, I came down from my house some time ago, that I might be on hand without fail when you arrived, to place my electric carriage at your service. I thought it probable that you would not have sent to the Palace, and therefore it might save you some slight inconvenience if I were on the spot. If you will honor my poor conveyance—”
“Don’t let us delay our business for explanations or compliments, if you please, Chancellor,” the Emperor cut him short, brusquely. “I counted on your being here, with your carriage. Now for the hunting lodge in the woods!”