In acting thus the generous Pole showed that he did not know the man with whom he dealt; Karl was merely angry at this self-sacrifice; he was haughtily decided never to permit Augustus to keep the throne of Poland, and equally to never permit Stanislaus to resign it; he had never, in the dreariest, most hopeless hours of his exile relinquished the dream of unthroning the Czar, and the chivalrous withdrawal of Stanislaus Leczinski from the combat merely irritated the indomitable Swede.
Learning his humor, but still convinced of the wisdom of his own decision, Stanislaus had decided to come himself to Bender to inform Karl of the state of Europe and the desirability of his resigning the crown of Poland.
It was this journey, that the Pole was making incognito, that Grothusen now referred to.
It was not a happy change of subject, for it vexed Karl almost as much as that of the deputation of the janissaries.
“He too comes to dissuade me from what I have already set my mind on,” remarked the angry King. “Well, let him come. If I meet him, I shall tell him that if he will not be King of Poland, I can find another who will.”
He walked up and down the room, slowly and in a controlled manner, but the heaving of his bosom, the pallor of his face, and the dark flash in the eyes usually so cold, told that he was angry in no common fashion.
He suddenly stopped before his friend.
“And you, Grothusen!” he exclaimed, “you too would wish to see me a laughing-stock for the Czar—turned from this country at his pleasure.”
His emotion overpowered him as he mentioned his chief enemy; he turned to the window and leant his sick head against the mullions.
Peter Alexievitch!