Augustus flung up his head.
“I wish, I must,” he replied, “speak on a delicate matter—one that I shame to mention, one in which I am at the mercy of your Majesty.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Karl, as if he suddenly saw what was coming.
“I mean to speak of General Patkul,” said the Elector, steadily but hoarsely.
“You will speak in vain,” answered the King of Sweden, with the utmost coldness.
“I cannot think so, sire. I appeal to your chivalry, your clemency, to have mercy on this man—and mercy on me,” added the wretched Elector, clutching his hands in his ruffles. “If Patkul dies I am ashamed before the world.”
“Did you not think of that when you signed the peace?” demanded Karl harshly.
“Sire, is there any need to thus humiliate me?”
“Humiliate you?” replied Karl, with the slightest possible stress on the last word.
The blood flamed into the Elector’s thin cheeks. “Sire, we are cousins,” he said passionately.