“You are a poor diplomat,” returned the Elector angrily. “Are there not ways of saving General Patkul? I can appeal to the King of Sweden personally.”
His hedging weakness angered Aurora; it was true that she had suggested the surrender of Patkul and even broached the subject to Karl, but that had been while there had been something to gain by concession; now that her side was thoroughly beaten her blood was up, and, if she had been Augustus, she would have cast Sweden’s terms in his face. Also she was naturally generous, and once she realized what the delivery of Patkul to Karl meant she could not put her hand to it; she saw that Augustus would yield, had always meant to yield, and she despised him for it, as women will despise men for weaknesses and meannesses of which they are capable themselves.
“Very well,” she said, “sign those terms.”
She came quickly up to him, putting her lovely hand on his brocaded sleeve.
“Patkul must escape,” she added, gazing into the trembling face of Augustus. “Send an order to the Governor of Sonnenstein to let him, secretly, go at once.”
Augustus was relieved by this suggestion that seemed to suit both his convenience and his honor, yet he hesitated; to do this would be to play a trick on the man on whose mercy his very existence would depend; if Karl, who would be already sufficiently irritated by the victory of Kalisz, knew of this fresh attempt to fool him, he would undoubtedly refuse any possible concession in the harshness of his demands.
But Aurora had pushed pen and paper under the reluctant hand of Augustus.
“He trusted you,” she said, “and to give him to Karl is to give him to a cruel death.”
“Sweden might be merciful,” muttered Augustus.
Aurora ignored this feeble futility and resorted to another argument, more powerful to influence the distracted Elector than the last.