“Gott im Himmel!” he cried angrily, hurling the pack of cards through the window, while his greenish-gray eyes glared fiercely at his opponent, “what mad devil is in the cards?”
“I had wonderful luck,” said Bennett gently, rising from his seat and glancing imploringly at the princess.
“The Count von Hohenlinden, Your Majesty,” cried Hilda, paying no attention to Bennett.
King Rudolph arose from his chair. He was a short, thickset man, clumsy in movement, and much too heavy for his height.
“Will you be quiet, niece?” he exclaimed, his breath coming and going with asthmatic friction. “Let me understand this gentleman. Herr Bennett, you have won the cold hand——”
“And the marble heart,” muttered Bennett mournfully.
“As I understand it,” went on the king, “you purpose to put this castle and the roads, parks, bridges, and forests of my kingdom into a condition more worthy of the nineteenth century than is their present status. Am I right?”
“That is the proposition, your majesty.”
“But there are many difficulties in the way, Herr Bennett. I will meet with resistance at every point. I have ministers—a prime minister, heads of departments, red tape, precedent, national prejudice, and a large family of impecunious relatives, already in alliance against you and your projects. Ach Himmel! I thought my four jacks would solve my difficulties—and now I am worse off than ever.”
The Princess Hilda had retired to a window and was gazing pensively out upon hills and valleys over which the Schwartzburgers had lorded it for many generations. Here and there between the hills she could catch a glimpse of the stately Rhine, as it flowed serenely past the castellated summits where Romans, Teutons, and tourists had fussed and fretted through the centuries. Suddenly the king turned toward her.