When he was left alone with Morvan, the evil eyes of the two schemers met in mutual understanding. As Ferdinand seemed to hang back from declaring his thoughts and purposes, his henchman, reading them surely, led the way.
“A royal Princess, indeed,” he observed, with unctuous enthusiasm. “You might do worse, sire, than to acquire your cousin’s bride as well as his crown.”
“I was thinking so,” the reply came with ready eagerness. “That alliance would do more to settle me firmly on the throne than any other conceivable plan.”
“It would at once and for ever ensure the support of Rollmar.”
“It would. And with that, our position would be strength itself.”
“Quite unassailable. The old fox wants the crowns united. For the flesh and blood that happen to wear them he cares nothing. I rejoice, sire, that chance has thrown in your way an opportunity as glorious as it is unexpected.”
Not a word would the crafty counsellor speak of the most urgent factor, his master’s personal feelings. He was sure enough of them.
“And Ludwig?”
As he spoke the word, the King glanced with dark suggestion at his favourite.
Morvan gave a shrug and an evil laugh. “You must keep your word to the Princess, sire.”