When coming to a decision, his Majesty never does so precipitately. He paced up and down the room twice or thrice, and then said to me, “The matter is of a rather singular nature; I am unacquainted with law, and what I propose to do may one day serve as an example. It is my duty to rescue our unfortunate hostess, and requite her nobly for her hospitality.”
So saying, he sent for the Count, and assuming a careless, almost jocular air, thus addressed him:
“You were formerly page to the Empress Eleanor, I believe, M. le Bleink-Elmeink?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“She is dead, but the Emperor would easily recognise you, would he not?”
“I imagine so, Sire.”
“I have thought of you as a likely person to be the bearer of a message, some one of your age and height being needed, and of grave, secretive temperament, such as I notice you to possess. Get everything in readiness, as I intend to send you as courier to his Imperial Majesty. I am going to write to him from here, and you shall bring me back his reply to my proposals.”
To be sent off like this was most galling to the Count, but his youth and perfect health allowed him not the shadow of a pretext. He was obliged to pack his valise and start. He pretended to look pleased and acquiescent, but in his eyes I could detect fury and despair.
Half an hour after his departure, the King had the drawbridge raised, and then went to inform the Queen of everything.
“Madame,” said he, “you have been sleeping in this unfortunate lady’s nuptial bed. She is now about to be presented to you. I ask that you will receive her kindly, and afterwards act as her protector, should anything happen to me.”