“In that case,” replied the Premier darkly, “I should still do my best—within certain limits, of course—to preserve the throne to Otto Georg’s son, but there would inevitably be a change in the regency.”
“And in ceasing to be Premier you would merely become regent?”
“I do not say so. I remark simply that Thracia would part with a dozen queens before seeing me dismissed. No; the Queen can do me no harm, but unless she understands that fact at once, she may give me a good deal of trouble. Therefore she must be made to understand it.”
“You never pretended to be a knight-errant, did you?” asked Cyril lazily. “A business-like statesman with somewhat oriental ideas about women—that’s more like you, isn’t it?”
M. Drakovics glanced sharply at his subordinate; but the entrance of the Queen at the moment prevented his offering any answer to the question. Ernestine looked very small and pale in her deep mourning, with the heavy crape veil, which it was de rigueur for her to wear, falling to the ground behind her. Her aspect stirred in Cyril something of indignation, a very unwonted feeling with him, against M. Drakovics, who could talk so calmly of bullying this poor little woman into submission to himself. But this was not a time for indulging in sentiment, and as the Queen and M. Drakovics plunged into the neglected business of the past fortnight, he began to hope that the interview might end without any actual awkwardness. But when the Queen had given the necessary authorisation to the steps which the Premier had been obliged to take, and the list of matters to be discussed at the meeting of the Privy Council on the morrow had been agreed to, and it was Cyril’s turn to present his report and request directions for the future, M. Drakovics seized his opportunity.
“Her Highness will remain with your Majesty for the present?” he asked suddenly, when Cyril was detailing the arrangements made in connection with the visit of the Princess of Weldart. The Queen’s face flushed.
“My mother is good enough to promise to stay here with me until her physicians refuse to allow her to remain longer,” she replied, with a touch of defiance in her tone. “Is there anything extraordinary in that?”
“What could be more natural, madame?”
“My mother is endangering her own health by coming to Thracia at this season,” the Queen went on warmly; “but she refuses to forsake me in my bereavement.”
“Her Royal Highness’s visit is entirely of a personal and private character, madame, if I may presume to ask?”