“Why not, pray?” Ludovic demanded warmly, as an inkling of the other’s drift dawned upon him.
Rollmar met him with steady eyes. “If the romance is to come to an end, the sooner it is over the better.”
The meaning was plain now. “True,” Ludovic returned, with the restraint of a settled determination. “But the romance will end only with our deaths.”
Rollmar seemed to accept the words as a challenge. His still deferential manner was in curious contrast to the dictatorial purport of his speech. But then his daily interviews with his master had made the blending of the two quite natural.
“Speaking in the name of my master, Duke Theodor,” he said, “the question of the alliance between Princess Ruperta and yourself is a closed one. It was naturally and necessarily contingent on certain events and circumstances. With the romance of your love affair I have no concern, except to express a passing regret that it should have indirectly upset a promising intention. But your Majesty will understand that, from his Highness Duke Theodor’s point of view, the proposed alliance of our Princess was not with Ludwig Hassenburg, but with Ludwig, King, or at least Heir Apparent of Drax-Beroldstein.”
So the meaning was at last clear with a vengeance. The fierce old eyes left no doubt as to will behind the intent. In Ludovic the impetuosity of youth was tempered by a certain natural shrewdness and inculcated tact. He had been brought up to govern, and an important part of his teaching had been, as it should be of all rulers, to know how to meet a dangerous opposition by a graceful show of yielding.
After all, the Chancellor’s line of policy, now so bluntly indicated, was only what might have been expected of him. He had never pretended that the projected match was more than a matter of state expediency: as for love in it, he had clearly shown that such a point never troubled him. The wolf and the serpent, he had said. Yes; there was no use, especially in Ludovic’s present helpless position, in opposing force, which he had not, or even spirit, which he had, to cunning. So he bowed before the expression of the old statesman’s plain-spoken intent.
“I can well understand that, Baron,” he replied, masking the resentment in his heart. “Were I so simple as to expect you to forego your policy for a mere matter of romance I should confess to a poor knowledge of the world and an incompetence to govern my little share of it. But if you think for a moment that I have given up my crown, you make a strange mistake. You cannot think that. Could I be capable of so weak an act of renunciation, were I so ready to bow before circumstances, I should indeed be unworthy of so noble, so high-spirited a girl as Princess Ruperta. No, I mean to assert my rights without delay, and have little fear, that, when once I have raised my standard in Beroldstein, my cousin Ferdinand will be able to stand against me.”
Rollmar’s face was not an easy one to read, but if at that moment it gave any clue to his thoughts, it indicated that he was of a different opinion. But he did not say so. His purpose was to marry the Princess to the King of Drax-Beroldstein, when once it was quite settled which of the cousins wore the crown firmly on his head. That issue they might fight out between themselves, and welcome. As to the result he was cynically indifferent.
“Very well, sire,” he said calmly, “your spirit is admirable and deserves success. As a sensible man you will hardly blame my master if he, before giving his daughter’s hand, waits for the interesting result. Now, it is time I was on my way.”