“What you say is true enough,” replied the ruler of the Dual Monarchy gloomily, “but she can be removed otherwise. You are informed of the alliance I have in mind?”
“I am, your Majesty, and with all my humble deference for your judgment I am forced to say that I do not believe such a marriage would effect the result we desire. In the first place, it would be a contest of two strong wills, and your daughter is a woman of Hapsburg gifts, quite aside from her force of character; in the second place, she is a woman of uncommon fascination. No doubt she would bind the Archduke Aloys Franz hand and foot, and gratify her ambitions through him; it must be remembered that she could not be asked to take the oath of renunciation, your Majesty.”
The Emperor of Austria stirred uneasily. His daughter’s charm as a woman had never seriously occurred to him, but he saw the danger in a flash. Would it not indeed be better to get her out of Europe? But he looked at the American leaning against the casement, encountered the cold blue eyes before which millions seemed ever passing in review, and stiffened. The temptation fled. The idea was preposterous enough, without a son-in-law who would make him feel as if Europe were on a library-shelf in an antique binding.
“She can be shut up,” he said briefly. “There is no necessity to marry her at all. Such things have been done, and they can be done again—with all kindness, of course, but as securely as if in an underground dungeon.”
Fessenden strode forward and stood in front of the table.
“Is that your answer?” he asked.
“That is my answer.”
“That you would shut up a woman like that as if she were a lunatic or an idiot, without liberty, without friends, until she went mad or killed herself?”
“What would be done would be for the good of the state, and she herself would see it in time.” The last words were not emphatic, but it was evident that the gorge of the Emperor was rising.
“Well, sir, you will do nothing of the sort,” said Fessenden.