“And if I wished I could win it,” said Karl, in the same tone.
“Sire, first you must conquer yourself—to-day you were intoxicated.”
The King flushed hotly.
“You came to the Queen’s table blood-stained from the chase. You dragged the cover to the floor with your spur in the cloth. You insulted me in the corridor.”
Karl looked at his disordered clothes.
“Before God,” he said in broken voice, “I am sorry.”
“And because of these things Count Piper resorts to a woman to influence you.”
“I am ashamed,” said the King. “I am ashamed. Yes, I was drunk. I went into my grandmother’s presence like any stable boor—I remember now. And Count Piper led me here—and I fell asleep when he talked politics.”
He hid his face in his strong hands, resting them on the back of the chair, his tangled curls falling over the dark tapestry.
Viktoria Falkenberg had not known him long, but she was quick to perceive that he was moved to emotion rare in such a nature.