So to the Marquess, who, though no statesman and no idealist, yet was shrewd enough in a worldly way, did Lord Falkland's attempt to make peace among the factions appear.
He took a half-laughing leave of the Viscount, and, kissing the King's hand, retired.
Charles picked up a small black leather portfolio from his bureau and began turning over the sketches it contained; they were Italian drawings recently brought by the Earl of Arundel from Rome, and the King glanced at them with real pleasure and relief. They were to his distracted mind what wine and gaiety would be to other men.
Lucius Carey, my Lord Falkland, with a look of anxiety on his beautiful face, waited for him to speak.
"Mr. Pym," said Charles at length, gazing at a little drawing in bistre of a rocky landscape with trees, "did make some discourse with me on the government of England."
"Was his speech such as to please Your Majesty?" asked the Viscount eagerly.
"Please me?" repeated the King, keeping his voice steady, but the paper in his hand fluttering from the nervous shaking of his wrist. "He wished to discuss matters with me as if we were two stewards set over an estate—not as if we were King and subject. Yet I do not doubt that he is a man of influence and one full of expedients and devices."
"He is honest," said my lord, "and of great power, and it is most necessary that Your Majesty should consider him and his party."
"Have I not," asked the King with subdued violence, "considered them?"