“No,” he said sternly, suddenly letting the tent flap fall and turning to look at his minister. “I have more pleasure in giving away crowns than in taking them.”
“You would, sire, sacrifice your interest——”
Karl interrupted.
“My interest!” he repeated as if offended, then with his ugly smile: “You should have been minister to some Italian prince, Piper, you are so fond of intrigues.”
The Count bit his lip and was silent; he would have liked to have mentioned Sweden and her interests, but knew the cold repulse he would meet with.
The King crossed to his camp table and turned over some papers the secretary had left for his inspection, but with an absent look and a careless hand.
Count Piper was about to take his leave when his soldier servant ushered in the young Palatine of Posnania and Alexander Sobieski.
This latter had waited on Karl to urge him to revenge the capture of his two brothers by Augustus; it entirely suited both the temper and the policy of the King of Sweden to promise him satisfaction, but he was not now so cordial towards the young prince whose obstinate refusal to accept his father’s crown had rivaled and perhaps shadowed the generosity and strangeness of his own action.
But he greeted the two young Poles pleasantly, and offered each in turn the strong white hand from which he had drawn the long buffle glove worn with rein and sword pommel.
They were both brilliantly dressed, charming and graceful in manner and looks.