“What are you, sire, but a boy?” replied the lady calmly. “Ah, when will you be a man?”
“With God’s help, when I choose,” he said shortly.
Viktoria von Falkenberg smiled sadly.
“Sire,” she said, “I do not come to lecture you as Count Piper or the Queen do. I think I have no right to speak at all, save this little right that you have noticed me.”
“I have noticed you,” he interrupted heavily.
“And that others think that I might influence you,” she continued.
“Ah, they think that, do they? Count Piper thinks a woman could influence me!” cried the King. “Forgive me,” he added quickly, “I am not courteous.”
“Indeed,” replied the Baroness, still with that little fixed smile, “your Majesty is more fitted to the camp than the court.”
Again the King flushed, and his eyes were narrowed and gleaming.
“Ah, I am boorish—I know,” he said, then, suddenly, “but I could be gentle to a woman, a woman like you.”