“At least,” Ferdinand replied, guardedly, “we cannot blame you for hastening to impart to us news so important. That may weigh with us in the view we shall take in our judgment of you.”
The Count was quick enough to see the line Ferdinand was taking, and, with the impetuosity of a strong, impatient nature, he set about brushing aside the barrier of shuffling behind which the King was entrenching himself.
“There is scarcely time or room for the question of judgment to come in, sire,” he said, emphatically. “I am a man of action, accustomed to go straightway to the point at issue. This matter clearly admits of no temporizing. Your Majesty’s judgment of me is at the moment of little consequence. My all-important quality is that I am the jailer of the one person in the world whose condition must supremely affect your Majesty’s welfare.”
“That,” replied Ferdinand, with a purposeful show of scorn, “is a matter upon which we do not invite your opinion. The King of Drax-Beroldstein must not be dictated to by the outlaw of the Teufelswald.”
The Count flushed purple. “The King——,” he began hotly, then checked the words at his lips. Doubtless he saw Ferdinand’s object in provoking him, and resolved to meet him at his own game. “I should be the last man to presume to usurp the functions of your Majesty’s advisers,” he said, with a significant smile, “or interfere, unbidden, with aught that concerns you. I fear that already, in my zeal, I may have been guilty of officiousness. Is it, then, your pleasure, sire, that I set Prince Ludwig free?”
Ferdinand had settled his course, and, that once accomplished, could keep to it firmly enough. “That,” he answered, with an assumption of dignity, “is a question for our advisers. It is not to be determined in a moment, certainly not at the suggestion of Count Irromar. We are not unmindful of your zeal, Count, and shall take it into consideration in dealing with you. But for the moment we must, as you will understand, at least make a show of doing our duty. You have set our laws at defiance, you have been the very scourge of a wide district of our kingdom. You”—and here a peculiar sneering smile spread over his face—“you, who have taken upon yourself so boldly to advise us, will recognize that we cannot afford to reward your long list of black deeds with immediate tokens of our favour. It would raise an easy and hideous suspicion. It would at once brand us as our cousin’s murderer. No! Policy of State must stand before all things, and that policy demands your arrest.”
All through the speech Irromar’s face had been growing darker, and at the last word he made a swift gesture of rage.
“Arrest? Your Majesty is joking!”
It was all he could say, but there was clearly no jest in Ferdinand’s crafty face as he signed to the group that, in scarcely veiled curiosity, stood apart. He had given his orders, and the men were ready. At a word from an alert official, Count Irromar, inwardly raging, and frowning threats, found himself surrounded and a prisoner.
“Your Majesty,” he cried darkly, “will do well to consider this step you are taking.”