Müllern and Grothusen were silent, out of pity and respect for the King, but Poniatowski, out of his love, spoke.
“Sire, it would be better that you should return, for there is nothing to be hoped from the Porte.”
At these words, coming from the man who had labored so long and faithfully in his cause, who had intrigued for him with such tireless energy, and always so eagerly supported the scheme of obtaining assistance from the Porte, Karl started, and a look of reproach crossed his face.
“Alas!” cried Poniatowski, “in my great loyalty to your Majesty, I must speak the truth—the Swedish cause is lost in Constantinople.”
“And in Europe, it would seem,” said Karl, with much bitterness, as he rose.
“No,” put in Count Liewin quickly, “Sweden only languishes for her King.”
“I could not return,” said Karl dryly, “in this miserable estate. I have no army.”
“Once your Majesty is present to hearten the people an army can be raised.”
M. Müllern ventured now to speak.
“And not only your Majesty’s army, but your Majesty’s councils need your presence.”