“Precisely,” answered Posadowski. “Those conditions we will outline to you to-morrow. Rudolph, is his highness’ apartment ready for him?”
“Yes; we will go up to the house at once, if you wish.” The lodge-keeper walked to a window and looked out into the night. “The rain has ceased,” he said. Approaching Prince Carlo, he asked, with marked deference, “May I offer you some brandy? You have had a hard ride, your highness.”
The prince hesitated. He felt cold, and a depression of spirits that had not affected him in the carriage overcame him at this moment. Courteous as these men were to him, he realized that they were determined and dangerous characters, the ringleaders in a revolt that, ten years before, had made them exiles. That they would take every advantage of the opportunity that chance and his own short-sightedness had thrown in their way he well knew. But of all the dismal influences that surrounded him there was none that affected him so unpleasantly as little Ludovics’ gaze. He could not escape it. Whichever way he turned his face, he realized that the piercing eyes of the undersized Rexanian were upon him, pitiless, revengeful, unflinching. Meeting Ludovics’ glance as Rudolph held out to him a glass half-full of brandy, a chill more penetrating than any he had ever felt struck to the prince’s marrow, and he drained the liquor eagerly. His hand trembled slightly as he returned the glass to Rudolph.
“Before we leave this place,” said Posadowski, drawing nearer to his captive and speaking sternly, “you must understand that you are absolutely powerless. The guard around you night and day will render escape impossible. The house to which we go at once has long been deserted, and none but a few tradesmen ever visit this lodge. An exile in Siberia is no farther removed from outside aid than are you, Prince Carlo of Rexania. But do not imagine for an instant that your life is in the slightest danger. You are surrounded by your own countrymen, by those who admire you personally, while they detest the institutions you represent—institutions that, I can well imagine, a man of your age and intelligence cannot, in his heart of hearts, uphold.”
The pale cheeks of the captive prince turned red at these words. He drew himself up arrogantly, and the spirit of a regal ancestry gleamed in his dark eyes as they rested defiantly upon the first man who had ever dared to question his loyalty to monarchy.
“Have done!” he cried, imperiously. “Powerless though I may be, there are words on your lips that I must refuse to hear.”
“Coward! coward!” shrieked Ludovics. “A king is always a coward! You’re afraid of the truth! Coward! Coward!”
The gigantic Posnovitch placed his hand over the dwarfish drunkard’s mouth.
“Put him to bed, and keep him there, Posnovitch,” cried Posadowski savagely. “If he makes any noise thrash him. Come, Rudolph, we will conduct Prince Carlo to his room.”