“What did she see in that boy to love?” he exclaimed with impatience.
I smiled involuntarily. “That is a difficult question, your Majesty,” I remarked. “How can I divine what a young maid sees in her lover? The poorest of us is likely to be loved by some woman.”
“All men but the king!” he cried passionately, rising from his seat and striding back and forth before the fire,—“all men but the king! And he must satisfy his soul with the fawning of the poor creatures who would mount upon his shoulders; must quench his thirst with falsehood and feed on treachery. He, of all men, cannot find one honest heart to love him for himself; he, of all men, must live amidst deceit and flattery, with the poisoner’s cup in his kitchen and the assassin’s knife by his pillow. Yet all men envy him!”
He laughed a discordant laugh; nothing could be more passionately bitter than his voice and manner. He paused and gazed at the fire, that was burning low; his great figure looming enormous in the gloomy room, and his head bowed; his breast was heaving with emotion, and his hands were clenched. It was the storm of a great spirit, and I knew that I saw the Romanoff face to face; a man with a man’s heart, imbittered by his disappointment. What thoughts must have been in his mind,—he, the autocrat, outrivalled in a young girl’s heart by a French soldier!
“All men envy the king,” he went on in a deep voice, speaking, it seemed, to himself; “but, by our Lady, there is no beggar more destitute of friends, no beggar more thirsty for the truth! Watched by all men—at once their envy and their dupe; flattered by all—loved by none! Failing to do the work of a god upon earth, he must die at last, cursed by men and welcomed by devils as their vicegerent. Breathing in life the essence of flattery—the greatest of men, the best beloved, the most magnanimous; cursed, behind his back, as the chiefest butcher, the most unjust of judges, the oppressor of the poor and the widow! Accountable for all things in the sight of men and of angels; and, after all, only human—alone, unloved—ay! hated, feared, betrayed. A king on earth, a thief in Paradise!”
He seemed to have forgotten me. His breast heaved, and his strong face quivered. Was this indeed the hour of a king’s reckoning? I watched him with many thoughts crowding into my mind. I saw how deeply he had craved Najine’s love, how much a good woman’s loyal regard would have been to this tempestuous soul. For a time he stood silent, his eyes upon the ground, and then, suddenly awakening from his revery, he directly addressed me.
“M. l’Ambassadeur,” he said in a scornful tone, “you have the reputation of having won a bride at the point of the sword—advise me. Of what effect would be the separation of Najine from her new-made bridegroom? She is a woman; doubtless she would forget him.”
I shook my head. “Nay, your Majesty,” I replied, “she is not of such poor stuff. Hers is a loyal nature, pure and true. She would not forget her husband, and—”
“And what?” he asked quickly, as I paused. “Speak with candor, M. de Brousson.”
“And she would abhor the man who separated them,” I concluded briefly.