He still wore a dark blue uniform of the plainest cut, a black satin cravat, and was without peruke or lace or ribbons or jewels; never in the slightest particular had he deviated from the austere conduct he had vowed to follow; his living was of the simplest, his couch a straw pallet or his own cloak; his food such as that eaten by the meanest foot soldier; since he left Stockholm he had never tasted wine nor spoken to a woman beyond the few words he had been forced to exchange with Aurora von Königsmarck. He passed his life in the camp, his companions were all soldiers, and little seemed to interest him beyond the things of war; the affairs of Sweden he left entirely in the hands of the regency; he cared nothing for the news from his capital, and never corresponded with his sole surviving relations, the Queen Dowager and his sisters.
Count Piper could not love him; perhaps because he had schooled himself to be above human weakness, no one loved him; certainly he never asked for anyone’s affections and disclosed to no one his thoughts; his immense pride seemed to be satisfied by the fear he inspired even in his friends and respect accorded him even by his enemies.
“The crown of Poland, sire,” said the minister, who could not resist looking upon the present situation from a statesman’s point of view. “Your Majesty is aware how easily you might obtain this for yourself?”
“Yes,” replied Karl dryly.
“It is what policy indicates.”
“I never loved your policy, Count,” said the King.
“Yet it is not to be disdained, even by a conqueror.”
Karl gave his short, ugly laugh.
“I think I can dispense with it. As for this crown, I think it pleases me more to give it away than to wear it.”
Piper had been expecting this; yet he resolved to endeavor to turn Karl’s fantastic pride in another direction, and inspire him with the desire for a glory more useful to Sweden and mankind.