The King, still holding his head and still confused, spoke again, slowly and insistently, like a child asking artless, but to himself important questions.
“What are the Czar’s objects—tell me, Count?” he asked.
The more stupidly calm his master showed the more the diplomat dared show his annoyance—after all, this boy was eighteen, of a race of heroes, carefully trained and had shown already some signs of greatness as in the matter of his coronation and his refusal to be ruled by a woman, and it was intolerable that he should sit here fuddled with wine, staring with eyes blank as those of any fool.
“The Czar needs an outlet—a fort—on the Baltic,” he replied, in a tone of fierce sarcasm; “the Czar is a man of vast schemes, of a wide ambition—of a fair measure of greatness, too—he has taught his people much—he would teach them the art of war. At your expense, sire.”
“And Saxony and Poland help him—yes, you told me so—we discussed this the other day.”
“We have spoken of it many times,” replied the councilor bitterly.
Karl did not heed him.
“And there is my poor brother Gottorp-Holstein ruined—and my sister weeping here for help,” he said slowly; “that is a pretty creature she has with her, Count——”
“Will your Majesty add that to your other amusements—so soon?” interrupted Count Piper.
His glance went wistfully over the splendid young man who stared at him so stupidly. “I must learn to make my court to a Marquise de Maintenon or an Aurora von Königsmarck!” he added.