The faded blue eyes looked at him contemplatively.
“I assumed there was no question as to the Succession,” he remarked.
“Nor did I mean to intimate there was,” Armand answered.
“Then, with all respect, Sire, I see no reason why you should not sign the proclamation.”
Armand shook his head. “May be I am foolish,” he said; “but I will not assume the government until after the Council to-morrow—it will do no harm to delay the proclamation for a few hours. And, in the interim, you will oblige Her Royal Highness and me by keeping this key, which she removed from King Frederick’s watch chain, but a moment before you came.”
The Count nodded and took the key.
“I recognize it,” he replied. “I know the lock it opens.”
“Good,” said Armand; “the box is at the Palace, and doubtless you also know what it contains. For reasons you may easily appreciate, I desire to avoid any imputation that the Book has been touched since His Majesty’s demise. You will produce this key at the meeting to-morrow, explaining how and where you got it; and then, in the presence of the Council, I shall open the box and if, by the Laws of the Dalbergs, I am Head of the House, I will enter into my heritage and try to keep it.”
The Prime Minister got up; gladness in his heart, though his face was quite impassive. He had come in doubt and misgiving; he was easy now—here was a man who led, a man to be served; he asked no more—he was content.
“I understand,” he said; “the proclamation can wait;” then he drew himself to his full height. “God save Your Majesty!” he ended.