The whistling of a thrush, perched on a tree near the windows, seemed stridently audible.
Behind him, beside the writing table, the Duke stood, motionless, silent, expectant.
The magnetism for which the veteran Prime Minister was notorious, the magnetism which he seemed to be able to invoke at will, had not failed him, whilst he talked. For the time being, he had completely dominated the King. But now, the King's own personality reasserted itself, with all the force of a recoil.
A bitter realization of his own impotence, of his own insignificance, was the King's first personal thought.
It was to be as he had feared, as he had always known, it would be.
The battle was joined, the fight for his place in the procession was about to begin, in the market-place, and he, the man most concerned, was the one man who could not take a side.
The Duke had gone out of his way to emphasize that fact.
"I attach the very greatest importance to the preservation of your absolute neutrality in the present crisis, sir."
Neutrality! The most contemptible part a live man could play.
"Fight for your place in the procession, Alfred."