“But,” Nikky spoke up valiantly, “it is not romantic folly, in the way you mean, sir. As long as I live, I shall—It is hopeless, of course, sir.”
“Madness,” commented the Chancellor. “Sheer spring madness. You would carry her off, I dare say, and hide yourselves at the end of a rainbow! Folly!”
Nikky remained silent, a little sullen.
“The Princess went to the King with her story this evening.” The boy started. “A cruel proceeding, but the young are always cruel. The expected result has followed: the King wishes you sent away.”
“I am at his command, sir.”
The Chancellor filled his pipe from a bowl near by, working deliberately. Nikky sat still, rather rigid.
“May I ask,” he said at last, “that you say to the King that the responsibility is mine? No possible blame can attach to the Princess Hedwig. I love her, and—I am not clever. I show what I feel.”
He was showing it then, both hurt and terror, not for himself, but for her. His voice shook in spite of his efforts to be every inch a soldier.
“The immediate result,” said the Chancellor cruelly, “will doubtless be a putting forward of the date for her marriage.” Nikky’s hands clenched. “A further result would be your dismissal from the army. One does not do such things as you have done, lightly.”
“Lightly!” said Nikky Larisch. “God!”