“To sign that paper and go to Saxony to entreat Sweden to soften these terms,” replied the unfortunate Elector; he was indeed so absorbed in the contemplation of his own misery as to hardly wince under Aurora’s scorn.
She tapped her foot in an angry silence; she saw this was the fatal way of weakness, which would have neither the dignity of defiance nor the advantage of concession, since she knew well enough that Karl would be merely irritated by any attempt to dispute his terms.
But she also knew the man with whom she had to deal, and that it was hopeless to expect even the semblance of heroism from a Prince like Augustus, overwhelmed by six years of a disastrous war that had stripped him of everything, even faith in himself.
“Well, you must sign,” she said.
There was a little silence, then the Countess added in a hard tone:
“Mdle. D’Einsiedel came here last night—hurrying from Dresden to beg for General Patkul’s release.”
“My God!” broke from Augustus, as he realized the baseness of the action he contemplated.
“And she has been to Prince Mentchikoff, who is going to ask for the Livonian’s release in the name of the Czar.”
Augustus stood in a wretched silence.
“I never understood why Patkul was arrested,” continued Aurora, in a curious tone.