He thought that at least Augustus could now refuse the shameful terms imposed by Karl XII.
Taking the letter from his breast-pocket he put it among the delicate coffee service on the tulip-wood table by the Elector’s elbow.
Augustus picked it up with nervous fingers, glanced at it, and fetched a groan, a look of real anguish distorting his handsome face.
Each of the four conditions were bitterly hard, the last struck at his honor as a gentleman; Patkul had been in his service, had trusted and did trust him, and was, moreover, sacred as the envoy of the Czar.
Augustus had shrunk from abandoning his ally; he felt it would be impossible to betray him by delivering to his enemy a man who was general and ambassador of Russia.
He put the letter down and sat staring into the fire.
“There was no possibility of moving the King?” he asked, in a broken voice.
“Not the faintest; he prides himself on his obstinacy and sternness. I think he is quite implacable,” replied M. Pfingsten, with dreary memories of the hardness of the young captain.
“Then there is nothing for me to do but accept these terms,” said Augustus.
This complete and instantaneous submission startled M. Pfingsten; he had not believed that Augustus would have been so subdued by his miseries and disasters as to have no spirit left with which to meet this extremity.