"No; hastened, Madam. It is too long to wait. Go to the king; ask him to shorten the interval; to set the day sooner. I beg of you, Madam!"
His voice was hard and harsh. It seemed almost a demand he laid upon her. Had he been less blunt or coercive, had he employed a more honeyed appeal, she would not have felt so moved in his behalf. In the atmosphere of adulation and blandishment to which she was accustomed, the free baron offered a marked contrast to the fine-spoken courtiers, and she leaned back and surveyed him as though he were a type of the lords of creation she had not yet investigated.
"Oh, this is delicious!" purred the countess. "Samson in the toils! His locks shorn by our fair Delilah!"
The thick-set soldier arose; muscular, well-knit, virile. "I fear I am detaining you, Madam," he said, coldly.
"No; you're not," she answered, merrily. "Won't you be seated—please! I should have known," she could not resist adding, "that love is as sensitive as impatient."
"I see, Madam, that you have your mind made up to refuse me, and therefore—"
"Refuse," repeated the favorite, surveying this unique petitioner with rising amusement. "How do you read my mind so well?"
"Then you haven't determined to refuse me?" And he stepped toward her quickly.
"No, I haven't," she answered, throwing back her head, like a spoiled child. "On the contrary, I will be your messenger, your advocate, and will plead your cause, and will win your case, and the king shall say 'yes,' and you shall have your princess whene'er you list. All this I promise faithfully to do and perform. And now, if you want to leave me so sullenly, go!"
But the free baron dropped awkwardly to his knee, took her little hand in his massive one and raised it to his lips. "Madam, you overwhelm me," he murmured.