For some moments no answer came from the baffled man, half crouching like a wolf at bay. Ludwig went up to him. “You must decide on the instant,” he said, sternly, “or take the consequences.”
Ferdinand ground his teeth together, as his vicious eyes sought counsel from Morvan. But the evil counsellor had none ready to meet that crisis, no time had been allowed to face the situation, he looked from one cousin to the other, silently compared them, and saw his case was hopeless; so the only reply he could give was a shrug. The bold game had been played and lost, and that it was irretrievably lost no one knew better than he whose brain had conceived it.
Ferdinand was fain to answer. “Have I ever pretended to dispute your right, or asserted my own claim, save on your disappearance and reported death? You have to thank me, cousin, for having kept the throne safe for you; nor do I imagine that you in my place would have acted otherwise.”
The speech was disingenuous enough, and Ludwig knew it; still he was content to take no further exception to it beyond replying:
“I think I should have acted with less haste and more decency. But that may pass. Then you, and the council, acknowledge my claim as rightful?”
There was a pause, as every man whom he addressed hesitated to declare the defeat of his own ambition. Nevertheless, the reluctant assent could not, in face of those odds, be withheld, and the word was sullenly spoken.
Ludwig acknowledged it a little haughtily, as accepting a right rather than a favour, and, at the word, de Gayl and Ompertz led the soldiers in another cheer, which, caught up and echoed through the hall and out into the palace square, sounded the knell of Ferdinand’s ambitious hopes.
“You will not be surprised,” said Ludwig, addressing his cousin, “that, until the public mind is clearer, I shall find it necessary to deprive you and your friends of your liberty. You will merely be confined to your own apartments, and I trust only a few days’ detention may be necessary.”
With a bitter scowl, Ferdinand turned away, a prisoner where, an hour before, he had played king. Thus, straightway, and without bloodshed, did Ludwig gain his throne.
Ruperta, who was lodged in the precincts of the palace, heard the tumult, which lasted almost through the night. Presently she was told that Prince Ludwig had arrived to claim his throne, and that a terrible struggle was anticipated. This news came as a stunning blow in her distress, for she realized that while the King had to fight for his throne he would have no mind or men for her service. Then, in the morning, she heard that the affair was peaceably concluded, that Ferdinand had abdicated, and that Ludwig was King. So she made haste to renew her petition to the new ruler, and with revived hope, since she had, on reflection, come to distrust Ferdinand, and to doubt any real intention on his part of helping her.