Karl could not listen without interest to any matter connected with military affairs, and he had a natural prejudice against the French, so he remained silent, resting his hands on the hilt of his great plain heavy sword that he held in front of him, and followed with attention what the Duke was saying.
But he was as impervious to the charm of Marlborough as he had been to that of Aurora von Königsmarck.
Marlborough, who was used to swaying men and exercising a strong personal influence, soon perceived this.
“Sire,” he said suddenly, his fine eyes keen, alert, and slightly amused, “why do I speak of these things to one who has accomplished so many greater ones? Your Majesty, who has already dethroned one King, and will another——”
Karl’s eyes suddenly lit.
“Whom do you think I shall dethrone, my lord?” he asked, and signed to M. Robinson, the English minister, to quickly interpret his question.
“So you are human,” thought Marlborough.
“Sire,” he said aloud, “I was meaning the Czar of Muscovy.”
Now there was no mistaking the fire that leapt into the cold eyes of Karl; he would not answer, but Marlborough read him plainly.
There was a little map of Muscovy, in colored paints, lying on a table by the window, and the Duke glanced at it as he spoke again.