Königsmark was ready, eager. In Hanover he would leave nothing that he regretted. At Wolfenbuttel, having served Sophia faithfully, his ever-growing, romantic passion for her might find expression. She would make all dispositions, and advise him when she was ready to set out. But they must use caution, for they were being spied upon. Madame von Platen’s over-eagerness had in part betrayed her. It was, indeed, their consciousness of espionage which had led to this dangerous meeting in the seclusion of the pavilion, and which urged him to linger after Sophia had left him. They were not to be seen to emerge together.
The young Dane sat alone on the window-seat, his chin in his hands, his eyes dreamy, a faint smile on his shapely lips, when Ernest Augustus burst furiously in, the Countess von Platen lingering just beyond the threshold. The Elector’s face was apoplectically purple from rage and haste, his breath came in wheezing gasps. His bulging eyes swept round the chamber, and fastened finally, glaring, upon the startled Königsmark.
“Where is the Princess?” he blurted out.
The Count espied Madame von Platen in the back ground, and had the scent of mischief very strong. But he preserved an air of innocent mystification. He rose and answered with courteous ease:
“Your Highness is seeking her? Shall I ascertain for you?”
At a loss, Ernest Augustus stared a moment, then flung a glance over his shoulder at the Countess.
“I was told that her Highness was here,” he said.
“Plainly,” said Königsmark, with perfect calm, “you have been misinformed.” And his quiet glance and gesture invited the Elector to look round for himself.
“How long have you been here yourself?” Feeling at a disadvantage, the Elector avoided the direct question that was in his mind.
“Half an hour at least.”