“Madame Royale, your Majesty’s sister, will have told your Majesty of the state of Swedish affairs,” he answered.
“She wrote to me as a woman and I replied to her as a King,” said Karl. “Tell me now, Count Liewin, as one man to another.”
As he spoke he lifted his eyes and gazed at the envoy with his usual coldness.
“Affairs are so bad at home,” responded Sweden’s envoy, “that the instant return of your Majesty is begged for—nay, demanded.”
“Demanded!” cried the King. “Your senate gets out of hand, Count.”
He spoke harshly; in his misery he was as jealous of his authority as ever he had been in his grandeur; he refused the senate any right to interfere in affairs save by obeying his orders (forgetting that he was the first king to make a free Sweden enslaved), and he had never forgiven the regency for signing, four years ago, the treaty of neutrality at The Hague.
Count Liewin, though respectful and even humble in demeanor, faced his sovereign boldly.
“Sire, someone must conduct affairs—we have nothing from your Majesty.”
Karl ignored this.
“And you would make peace, my sister tells me,” he said sternly.