And there he found him, standing by the window through which the long Northern twilight fell into the narrow apartment; his arms were locked over the back of a high chair and he leant forward, in the attitude of one dreaming.
Though he was so splendid in his magnificent youth there was something in his demeanor more terrifying than lovable, and his proud noble face was marred by the ugly smile that curved his full lips.
As soon as the Count entered he spoke, without raising his head.
“I shall go to war,” he said, and his voice that was always expressionless had a hard ring in its clear quality. “I shall return Gottorp to his duchy and I shall engage Denmark. Saxony must be brought from the throne of Poland, and from these I menace this Emperor of Muscovy—this Czar of the Russias.”
“I believe,” replied Count Piper, with perfect sincerity, “that your Majesty can do these things.”
“I believe that I can,” said Karl. “The most dangerous of my foes is Russia. He affects to be a mighty man, does he not?”
It was plain that this greatness of the Czar rankled with him; it was almost as if he had a personal hatred of this political enemy of his country whom he had never seen; this was the only person towards whom he had ever evinced the faintest anger or jealousy.
“The Czar is great,” replied the Count, “but your Majesty might be greater.”
“I would like to break him!” exclaimed the young man looking up. With that startling flash in the darkening blue of his eyes, he looked more human, more moved than Count Piper had ever known him. “’Tis a savage, a Tartar ... and he defies me ... wants my provinces ... mine, by God ... you have seen me drunk to-day, you will not see that again ... we will see if the Czar drunk can match me sober ... and Poland with his Aurora.... I will have no women, Count.”
He seemed greatly moved by a deep and restrained emotion.