“I only ask for the charity of a few words speech,” she said in French, and then she recalled that though he was acquainted with that language he obstinately refused to speak it, and she added hastily in Swedish, “Will you not hear me, sire, a few moments?”
He checked his horse that pawed the ground impatient to proceed, and gave Aurora a chilling look.
“On what subject should you have to speak to me?” he demanded.
The Countess flushed, for all her self-command; she would liked to have given him a glance as freezing as his own, and have ridden away before he did so; she hated him for the disadvantage she was at—obliged to conduct this interview on horseback, muffled in a heavy mantle, in the open air and keen cold, half her graces concealed, half her charms useless.
“Has your Majesty’s success and glory taught you only to be cruel to the unfortunate?” she asked, with a quiver in her voice.
“On what matter could you have to speak to me?” repeated the King; he gave a short unexpected laugh, and she was startled to see how it spoilt and rendered unpleasant his handsome face. Aurora’s hand was forced.
“I come from the King of Poland,” she said, with dignity.
“You could not come on a more hopeless errand, then,” he replied. “I discuss no politics with women, Countess.”
“I am more in the King of Poland’s confidence than any of his ministers,” she declared boldly.
“That,” he said curtly, “is well known.”