“Kneel, you fool, kneel.”
And the Count got himself somewhat clumsily down upon his knees, like an elephant preparing to receive his burden. The face of the Emperor remained impassive, and he said harshly:
“Stand up.”
The Count, once more upon his feet, breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction at finding himself again in an upright posture.
“Count of Winneburg,” said the Emperor slowly, “it is alleged that upon the occasion of the last meeting of the Council of State for the Moselle valley, you, in presence of the nobles there assembled, cast a slight upon your over-lord, the Archbishop of Treves. Do you question the statement?”
The Count cleared his throat several times, which in the stillness of that vaulted room sounded like the distant booming of cannon.
“If to cast the Archbishop half the distance of this room is to cast a slight upon him, I did so, your Majesty.”
There was a simultaneous ripple of laughter at this, instantly suppressed when the searching eye of the Emperor swept the room.
“Sir Count,” said the Emperor severely, “the particulars of your outrage are not required of you; only your admission thereof. Hear, then, my commands. Betake yourself to your castle of Winneburg, and hold yourself there in readiness to proceed to Treves on a day appointed by his Lordship the Archbishop, an Elector of this Empire, there to humble yourself before him, and crave his pardon for the offence you have committed. Disobey at your peril.”
Once or twice the Count moistened his dry lips, then he said: