The Prime Minister slowly put down the paper, and every one looked at the Archduke—what would be his answer? There was no doubt that Lotzen had scored heavily, so heavily, indeed, that Retz made no effort to restrain his smile.
“Does His Royal Highness deny the correctness of the copy and that the decree is as read?” the Duke asked.
“I have never seen the decree,” said Armand, “and my—pray have the courtesy, sir,” (as Lotzen laughed and shrugged his shoulders) “to wait until I’ve finished—and my only knowledge of it is from hearing it read by the King, the day he offered me my inheritance; but if my recollection be accurate, the decree is as you have it.”
In a flash the situation had become reversed, and it was now Armand against whom the presumption ran; and it was he, and not Ferdinand, who required the Laws to prove his claim.
A heavy silence followed. Then into the stillness cut the Duke’s taunting laugh.
“Exit the American,” he sneered. “Vale the foreign pretender.”
It was, he knew, into Armand’s most vulnerable spot and, like the coup de grâce, he had saved it until last; yet, to his astonishment, it brought only a contemptuous smile and an ignoring stare.
“His Grace of Lotzen seems to have discovered a mare’s nest,” said Armand. “The decree that is required to make me eligible to the Crown and to restore me to my proper place in the Line of Succession was executed by Frederick the Fourth the night before he died.”
And once again came Lotzen’s taunting laugh.
“The night after he died, you mean, cousin,” he exclaimed.