“Ah, you are the friend of M. Drakovics?”
“I was the friend of your husband, madame, and I promised him to do my best for his son.”
Her face cleared. “Ah, that is it,” she said. “I must not risk Michael’s kingdom for my caprice, nor even to please my mother. You are right to remind me of this, Count. If my child were to lose a single village, or the smallest fraction of the power which he ought to possess in Europe, through any measure of mine, I could never forgive myself. I could not face him when he grew up.”
“His Majesty is to be congratulated on possessing so conscientious a guardian of his interests, madame.”
“But it is not only that. It is not merely a question of preserving the kingdom for him, but of fitting him for the kingdom. During this last dreadful fortnight I have become very anxious about his education. Do you not think he ought to be taught something?”
“For his sake and yours, madame, I trust your Majesty will not teach him to dislike his advisers,” said Cyril drily.
“I think that if he learns that from any one, it will be from the advisers themselves,” said the Queen, an angry flush rising to her forehead; but as Cyril merely bowed in answer to the taunt, her face changed. “I am doing you an injustice, Count. You are thinking of what my husband said that day. But it was not fair.”
As she guessed, Cyril’s thoughts had gone back, like her own, to a day shortly before his visit to England, when Otto Georg and he, catching sight of the little Prince marching solemnly up and down the terrace in charge of Mrs Jones, had sallied out and carried off the child in triumph to the King’s study, where they indulged in a glorious romp. When the fun was at its height the Queen had entered, and without taking any notice of her husband or of Cyril, had led away Prince Michael to his nurse, telling him in her iciest voice that it was the hour for his walk, and that she never allowed it to be interfered with. As she reached the door, dragging with her the unwilling child, puzzled to find himself scolded for what his father had done, the King’s wrath blazed forth—
“Take care, madame! The child is in your hands for the present, but in a year or two it will be a different matter. You had better not teach him to hate his father, for I might return the compliment.”
Cyril could recall now the way in which the Queen had departed without deigning to reply, her head held a little higher as she passed through the door, while Otto Georg, angry that he had forgotten himself so far as to use threats to his wife in the presence of a third party, relieved his feelings by a burst of hearty vituperation as soon as she was out of hearing. This had happened only two months ago.