It was not until noon of the next day that Ernestine succeeded in obtaining an interview with her son, and in this her cousin anticipated her. King Michael entered his mother’s room armed at all points, and the sight of his sullen, determined face gave Ernestine a strange pang, bringing back, as it did, the first year of her unhappy married life. One day, as she was quitting the room in outraged dignity after a violent quarrel with her husband, she had chanced to catch a glimpse of herself in the great mirror she was passing, and the look which had met her then was repeated now in the face so like her own. After all, for much that was amiss in Michael’s character the blame was hers, and the thought gave a sudden softness to her voice as she stretched out her hand to the boy.
“Come and sit here beside me, little son.” The endearing diminutive came naturally to her lips, although King Michael was as tall as herself. “I have scarcely had a word with you yet. What is this that I hear about Lida?”
“I love Lida, and I am going to marry her,” was the answer, as King Michael declined the proffered seat, and stood leaning against the mantelpiece, glowering at his mother with wrathful eyes.
“You are sure that you really love her, Michael?”
“Of course I am. I can’t tell why you should think I don’t know my own mind. If I didn’t love her, why should I want to marry her?”
The plea did not sound as irresistible to Ernestine as it had done to her cousin, but she betrayed no impatience. “I don’t want to appear to cast a doubt on the sincerity of your love, dear boy,” she said, without showing any resentment at his tone, “but you know that it is not with kings as with ordinary men—there are so many things to think of. If you marry Lida, it will mean that some important changes have to be made, and perhaps some sacrifices. I don’t grudge making sacrifices for my boy—I think you know that, Michael?”
A dogged silence was the only answer, and she went on, “I have given you up so much of late years, Michael, that perhaps you scarcely realise how much it has cost me to do it. It never struck you, did it, when you were at Praka or Bashi Konak with your cousins, how lonely I was here? But you were so happy with them that I had not the heart to keep you in this dull place with no one to play with. No, dear, I don’t shrink from any sacrifice for your sake, but I want to be sure that it will not be wasted.”
“I shall never marry any one but Lida,” responded the boy gruffly. “Everything that I like is connected with her—Tant’ Ottilie, and going to Praka, and getting away from ceremony and fuss. I can’t give her up.”
“I am not asking you to give her up, dear boy. If you are sure you love her, I will speak to Count Mortimer, and ask him to make the proper arrangements, though I shall be left more lonely than ever.”
“I am sorry,” said King Michael awkwardly, kissing his mother on the forehead, “but I love her too much to give her up. And, little mother”—the words came with a rush—“you have been so kind about it, I’ll not say anything against your—your settling things with that fellow Mortimer.”