“I am greatly honored, Excellency,” he said, with his twisted smile.
“And I, sire.”
But the Chancellor watched him from under his shaggy brows. The messenger had escaped. By now Karl knew the story, knew of his midnight ride over the mountains; and the haste it indicated. He sheathed himself in dignity; did the Chancellor, held his head high and moved ponderously, as became one who came to talk of important matters, but not to ask a boon.
Karl himself led the way to his study, ignoring the chamberlain, and stood aside to let Mettlich enter. Then he followed and closed the door.
“It is a long time since you have honored Karnia with a visit,” Karl observed. “Will you sit down?”
Karl himself did not sit. He stood negligently beside the mantel, an arm stretched along it.
“Not since the battle of the Ar, sire,” replied the Chancellor dryly. He had headed an army of invasion then.
Karl smiled. “I hope that now your errand is more peaceful.”
For answer the Chancellor opened a portfolio he carried, and fumbled among its papers. But, having found the right one, he held it without opening it. “Before we come to that, sire, you have here, I believe, detained for some strange reason, a Captain Larisch, aide-de-camp”—he paused for effect—“to His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince of Livonia.”
Karl glanced up quickly. “Perhaps, if you will describe this—gentleman—”