“And what does the Elector want?” asked Karl.
The Saxon was a little taken aback; he had not been prepared to meet the King with so little ceremony, to converse with him with this dry abruptness.
With a bow he handed Karl the letter of Augustus, in which that monarch entreated for peace on any terms.
Karl glanced at the seal.
“Why this secrecy, gentlemen?” he asked, with his sudden, unpleasant smile.
The two plenipotentiaries were silent; they found themselves in that position in which it is difficult to do anything with dignity or even with grace.
“The Czar of Russia knows nothing of these negotiations?” demanded Karl.
“Sire,” said Baron D’Imhof, “my master wished this to be between himself and you.”
“He is ready then to abandon his ally who is not yet prepared to submit?” asked the King, his face, still as smooth as a mask of stone, unmarked by care or emotion, and radiant with the look of perfect health turned full towards the two Germans, and his strange eyes, chill and blue as his Northern seas, swept them with a glance of cold contempt. Again the Germans were silent.
“The Czar does not know of this letter?” demanded Karl.