“And when he pooh-poohs the whole affair—declares that the children are babies, and that the peace of Europe (oh, I know his ways) is not to be imperilled for the sake of giving them what they cry for—what then? Do you think I don’t know that he will talk you over in five minutes, and that you will agree with everything he proposes, wiping away a tear to the memory of the love-story you have ended so cruelly?”
“I must beg of you to leave the matter with me, Ottilie,” said the Queen, rising and going towards the door. “I have confidence in Count Mortimer, if you have not, and I feel sure that he will find a way of settling things happily.”
“Wait, Ernestine!” cried the Princess, crossing the room and putting her hand on the door. “Things would be settled happily for you and him, no doubt, but what about Lida and me? No settlement devised by Count Mortimer would ever prove favourable to my daughter. He will laugh at your scruples, and bring you round to his own way of thinking—or if you should venture to hold out, he would proceed with his plans without reference to you. And do you think that I am going to allow you to sue humbly to such a man in my name, entreating that my daughter shall be permitted to marry your son? No; put things on the right footing at once. It is not Count Mortimer who is master of the situation—it is myself. I hold the winning card, and that is Michael. There is less than a week now before he comes of age, and if Count Mortimer succeeds in obtaining for him in that time the promise of the hand of Frederike of Hercynia, he will repudiate the arrangement as soon as he is his own master. Then your friend must resign, disgraced before all Europe. If he is unwilling to face the prospect, he must give the lie to the whole of his past policy, and accept Lida as his future Queen. That is the choice you have to offer him—a surrender to Michael, and to me, or political ruin.”
“Ottilie,” said the Queen, looking at her in agony, “be merciful. I cannot take him such a message. I love him.”
“Then leave him to discover the alternatives for himself. It will only make his ruin all the surer. He can find no third course. For any other man I would have built a golden bridge—enabled him to make his escape with some remnants of dignity—but for him I have no pity.”
“But what has he done to you, Ottilie? His plan to marry you to his brother failed.”
“Yes; but how did he accept his failure? He insulted me in a way that I shall never forgive. It was the evening of our wedding—the ceremony was just over—and this wretch Mortimer approached Alexis and myself under pretence of offering his congratulations. Every word was an insult, though veiled under the form of politeness. He ventured—he even ventured—to warn Alexis that I should probably prove unfaithful to him. ‘She has deceived her father, and may thee,’ were his words. Alexis did not perceive the drift of the remark, but if I had had a dagger at hand——! I smiled then, but afterwards I vowed that he should pay dearly for the outrage; and now the time for payment has come.”
“But why through me? It is too cruel. Why do not you tell him? But no; at least I can save him from that bitter tongue of yours by telling him myself.”
“Yes, and see how he will regard you afterwards. I wish he loved you, Ernestine—as you love him, poor silly child!—that he might suffer more, but you are nothing but an item in his plans. He has made use of you to work his way to power, he is using you now to recommend himself to the Emperors, and when you prove unable to help him to mount any higher, he will kick you aside. You are of no use to him unless you represent success.”
“Please let me pass, Ottilie,” said the Queen coldly, her calmness restored. “Your calumnies against Count Mortimer are worthy of yourself; I will say no more. As I had decided, I shall see Michael first and question him, and then communicate the situation to Count Mortimer, and ascertain his views.”