A thrill of triumph, an exultation which shook him, from head to foot, as he stood in the carriage, ran through the King.
And then it left him, and, in its place, came a sickening chill.
But these people, his people, did not know what had happened, what he had done, how lightly he had held them. If they knew the true, the inner, history of the last twenty-four hours, would they cheer him like this?
All his former impatience with, his contempt for, himself, at that moment, returned to the King.
What right had he to be standing there, smiling and bowing in acknowledgment of this wild, this fervent, enthusiasm? He had done nothing to earn it. He had forfeited all right to it—
It was the old statesman behind him, sitting far back in the carriage, who ought to be standing there, in his place—in the place of honour—in the forefront of—this procession—
Swinging round in the carriage, the King beckoned, impetuously, to the Duke, to stand up beside him.
For a moment, the veteran Prime Minister hesitated.
Then he stood up beside the King, in the carriage, towering head and shoulders above him.
The King took the Duke's arm.