Augustus was then in his bed-chamber, in poor health and melancholy humor, lounging in a white brocade dressing-gown by the wood fire, while Aurora von Königsmarck, who had recovered something of her ancient splendor, but who was also negligently gowned in pink taffetas, frothed the chocolate over a silver lamp.
Count Fleming, the Elector’s minister, had seen the King enter the town, and had rushed to advise his master; but Karl, who had entered the gates under an assumed name, and passed as a member of the King’s guard, was before him, and had entered the chamber of Augustus before that prince knew that he was in the town.
Augustus vested himself in haste, being utterly bewildered and amazed.
“The King of Sweden in my ante-chamber!” he kept saying.
“He comes to exult over you,” she said. “Before he goes on fresh conquests he wishes to satisfy himself with the sight of the King he has discrowned.”
“It will give me an opportunity to speak for Patkul,” said Augustus. “Surely he will not refuse me that favor.”
“He will,” replied the Countess, “but he is in your power.”
“Bah!” said the Elector, annoyed at this womanish point of view, “I am in his.”
Aurora could hardly restrain her impatient scorn; every time, according to her ideas, that Augustus was called upon to show strength, he showed weakness; she had long ceased to feel either affection or respect for the Elector, and in secret scorned herself for the love of comfort and luxury that induced her to stay with him, and accept the tarnished splendor Augustus had secured by the treaty of Altranstadt.