Marlborough, in no way discomposed, entered agreeably into further compliments, since it seemed that it was he who must make the conversation.
He spoke in French, and Karl, who knew this language but would never use it, replied in Swedish, of which tongue the Duke was wholly ignorant.
The English minister interpreted, and the conversation on general topics became slow and fatiguing. The English envoy was not in any way thrown out by this.
He wished to discover if Karl was likely to interfere in the war between France and the allies; he was dangerously near and had severely treated the Emperor, the most doubtful member of the league against Louis XII.
This object the Duke believed he could attain by merely watching the King of Sweden.
Karl, who knew his design, and disdained all those whom he thought were wanting his favor or alliance, broached the subject with a cold bluntness.
“I wonder your grace takes the trouble to concern yourself in this affair. I gave my word seven years ago not to meddle in this war.”
Marlborough bowed gravely; he did not believe that anyone would sacrifice power and interest to their word; he was too well used to the ways of princes to be greatly impressed by what Karl said.
Perfectly at his ease and with a charming smile he studied this imperious boy who had put Northern Europe under his foot.
With that graceful composure so natural to him he began to talk of the war with France, naming some of the victories of the allies.