The Prince rose and crossed to the hearth, resting his elbow against the chimney-side and his face in his hand.
Louis, still seated at the table, glanced at his brother wistfully.
"You take my news coldly," he said in a tone of disappointment. "I thought that you would be rejoiced to hear that there was this league to protect the rights of the nobles and the liberties of the people."
"It was no news to me," answered William. "I knew your designs. You are all young and ardent and reckless—God keep you all."
Louis bit his lip and drank the last drop of yellow wine that lay like liquid amber in his sparkling crystal glass.
"We do what we can," he said, with great emotion, "and none but a coward would do less at such a time as this."
William was silent; his face was turned away from his brother and his shoulders drooped a little.
The young Count flushed all over his sensitive face at what he thought the Prince's disapproval.
He rose and stood before the brilliant disorder of the dining-table in the attitude of a man justifying himself.
His ardent gaiety had gone; he was passionately grave, passionately in earnest.