“All, all so ready to persuade me to my own dishonor!” he exclaimed.
He was deeply moved, and his eyes showed dark in a pale face as he flung back his head and stared at Grothusen.
“On my soul,” cried that nobleman, “these Turks mean no dishonor.”
“Have you not yourself seen,” returned Karl, “the letters to the Khan from Count Fleming? I believe they mean to sell me to Augustus.”
“I am sure, sire,” replied Grothusen, with some heat, “they do not. I know truth when I see it, and I am convinced that the Khan and Ismail Pasha are acting as honorable men.”
“Very well, then,” said Karl, “I also will act as an honorable man. I refuse to be forced to do what I would not do willingly.”
“You know that this may mean your life, sire, which is sacred to your people? That all your friends, servants, and guards, so long faithful to you, and looking to you for protection, will be either massacred or taken into slavery?”
“Grothusen,” replied the King coldly, “if you fear to share my fortunes, join the Poles and Cossacks who have gone to Bender.”
At this cruel remark the Swede flushed hotly all over his fair face.
“That you are beyond reason, sire, does not mean that I am beyond loyalty.”