The two splendid men, each drawn to the full of his great height, stood facing each other in the toy room, amid the frivolous elegances of silk and satin, china and gilt.
“At least,” added the Elector, “accord him a death less cruel.”
He spoke without fear and even with a certain authority, being profoundly moved, and, like many weak, emotional people, being strong enough in the actual face of what inflamed his passions.
Besides, he could not but feel that he was of equal birth with Karl, considerably older, and of wider experience, and that the young conqueror was doing a cruel wrong.
This tone, as of equal to equal, had never been heard by Karl since the day he had forever silenced it in the Queen-Mother, and it inflamed him to complete fury, which he did not betray, but which made his blood tingle and his pulses bound.
“I have nothing to give you but silence,” he said, in a terrible voice. “I will take my leave, Highness.”
Augustus, pallid to the lips with mortification, fell back before this bitter rebuff, and, turning for a second, covered his face with his hands. Karl picked up his hat and would have left without another word, but the folding doors opened and Aurora von Königsmarck entered and stepped straight up to him.
This beautiful woman was in full court dress, white and silver, and adorned with diamonds; she carried a long fan of white feathers which she pointed at Karl with a gesture of supreme disgust.
So full was she of vitality and passion that the King was stayed by her entry and stared at her bright vivid face.
“Patkul may die,” she said, in a loud voice, “but he will be revenged. No man like you can triumph long. In the day of your disaster, sire, remember me—and that there was one person to scorn you and your glory, and know you for the little man you are.”