Adversity had given him neither a sense of humor, gentleness, nor gaiety, yet in some way he was more attractive than he had been, and the uncomplaining fortitude with which he had endured his cruel fortune inspired a noble pity in the hearts of brave men.
Not by a hair-breadth had he deviated from the code of pride, of honor, and endurance that he had followed when North Europe trembled at his feet, nor in any way faltered from the serenity that had been his when his conquests had dazzled mankind.
Nor was his obstinacy, a less admirable virtue, in any way abated, as his present attitude showed.
M. Fabrice found that the generals and ministers were engaged in persuading the King to abandon the design of opposing to the utmost the wishes of the Sultan.
Karl’s blue eyes, that had more fire than formerly, glanced at once at the new-comer.
“Ah, M. Fabrice,” he said, “have you come to join your prayers to those of these gentlemen who want me to run away?”
The envoy from Holstein did not know what to say; despite what he had heard from Ismail Pasha, and his knowledge of the character of Karl, he could hardly believe that the King meant to make an armed resistance with 300 men against 26,000, which was the number of the Tartars and Turks in Bender.
“God knows,” broke out Councilor Müllern, with tears in his eyes. “Your Majesty does not need to prove your courage to the world, and it would be a nobler part to submit.”
“Submit! submit!” repeated the King angrily. “You tire me with words!”
General Hord, who had fought by Karl’s side at Poltava, and who was still maimed as a result of his wounds, now addressed the King.