“Take me to him.”
Count Piper glanced at her somewhat doubtfully; if she did become his puppet he did not think that she would be a particularly easy one to manage; so far, at least, she had shown no good-humor and a certain enmity towards himself; he agreed with the King’s sister in not liking her; what charm she had, he decided, lay solely in her rather colorless beauty.
He conducted her to his cabinet without any very great hopes as to the success of his experiment, but, at least, he consoled himself, he had forced an issue that might have hung long and vexatiously, and this interview would decide how much or how little Viktoria von Falkenberg was going to count for in the life of the King of Sweden.
When the cabinet door opened Karl looked round.
He was still in the chair where Count Piper had left him and seemed to have but lately awakened.
The Baroness entered and closed the door. The King at once rose, and stood, with one hand on the back of his chair, looking at her in rather an amazed fashion.
His eyes were clear and his hands steady; he had already thrown off the effects of the wine—an easy matter for his superb and vigorous constitution.
But his hair was still disordered, his dress disheveled and stained with blood, and dirt, and wine.
The lady, in her fair exquisiteness, rose color and silver, her finished beauty and artificial grace, was a curious contrast to the young man in his vigor and careless attire.
“Ah, Madame von Falkenberg,” said the King, “who do you wish to see—Count Piper?”