“Get up, M. Fabrice,” said Karl kindly, “and return to your lodging. There is no need for you to remain to share my fortune.”
M. Fabrice sprang to his feet, angry and agitated.
“This obstinacy is not worthy, sire. You have no right to fling away so many lives for a whim!”
Karl only smiled; he was not easily angry with M. Fabrice.
Holstein-Gottorp had always been specially under his protection, nor had he ever forgotten the young Duke for whose sake he had first gone to war and who had been killed at his side.
It was his nature to be most tenaciously faithful to any cause or friendship he had once undertaken, and he had never faltered in his resolve to uphold the rights of his brother-in-law; he intended to make the little orphan Duke, his elder sister’s son, his heir, and to that end kept M. Fabrice near him, and gave him as much of his confidence as he accorded to any man.
Therefore he endured calmly the reproaches, the anger, and the pleadings of the excited envoy who was listened to with approval by the others, yet they, who had tried the like arguments in vain, had little hope from the eloquence of M. Fabrice.
All, as the listeners had foreseen, was useless.
“Return to your Turks,” smiled the King. “If they attack me, I shall know how to defend myself.”
M. Fabrice had not the heart to reply, and in the little silence that followed the King’s speech, Jeffreys, the English minister, entered the chamber.