"There will be none," she said, "I swear it. You are a most gallant and resourceful gentleman, and I might search my kingdom over for your equal."
Trafford noted the genuine enthusiasm of her tones, and nodded grimly.
"You are what they call a 'throw-back,' your Majesty," he said. "You should have lived five hundred years ago, in the age of joust and tourney, when men won their wives by driving enormous spears through the breastbones of their less muscular rivals."
"And you are of the Middle Ages too," she countered; "your ideals, like mine, go back to the early days of chivalry."
"The days of the rack and the Iron Maiden? No, I assure you that with all my faults I am more up-to-date than that. Romance is a fine thing on paper, but in my heart of hearts I would win my soul's desire with a gentle wooing. But to return to our moutons: does the plan I have outlined commend itself to my friend Bernhardt?"
"If your proposal had been to put a bullet through Karl's cranium I should say that it bordered on sanity," replied Bernhardt. "But even that would be difficult. Meyer stands or falls by Karl's supremacy—and the Jew is not a man to let his position be forfeited for want of forethought. He will watch over Karl's sacred person as a mother watches over her first-born. Still, we might scheme an attempt for stalking the royal stag."
"I suggested turning burglar," said Trafford. "I consider that a sufficient descent in the social scale, without turning murderer."
"You have not the advantage of being an absintheur," was Bernhardt's rejoinder. But at this point the conversation was interrupted; an officer of the Guides had approached and was standing at the salute.
"A man to see your Excellency," he began, to Bernhardt.
"Where from?"