Still Nicholas stood silent before the panel, and Marie passed out. He shut it carefully. Then he turned to the King, who was still standing with that half-sheet of notepaper in his hand.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “I desire to know whether it is your intention to marry my sister.”
The King looked him squarely in the face.
“Nicholas,” he said, “have I ever in my life done or said anything to give rise to such a belief?”
“Your Majesty,” Reist answered, with a bow, “has been ever most discreet. Yet before witnesses you pledged my sister in our ancient betrothal cup, well knowing its immutable record.”
“That is true,” the King answered, “but at the time I showed clearly that with me at least it was a jest. I plead guilty to an act of folly. I came straight here from life amongst a people to whom symbols and ceremonies have become as empty things—a practical and utilitarian people, and I did not recognize the passionate clinging of the dwellers in these more romantic countries to old customs and old ritual. I deeply regret it, Nicholas. I have no other regret.”
Reist pointed to the letter which still remained in the King’s fingers. Ughtred tore it through with a gesture of contempt.
“I did not write it,” he said. “I did not invite your sister’s presence.”
Reist controlled himself with a visible effort.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “I beg you for one moment to reflect. I appeal once more, less for your sake or mine, than for our country’s, to your honour. Your throne you owe to me. I have been your faithful servant, and my sword is yet wet with the blood of your enemies. Our name is great throughout Europe. An alliance with us can only strengthen your hold upon the people. It ill becomes me to force these things upon you, but the issue is great. Do you seek the hand of my sister in marriage?”