“But what ought I to have done?”
“You should have treated them with the most even and impartial courtesy when they were together, reserving all your fluctuations of temper or spirits for the occasions on which you received either of them alone. Suppose Count Mortimer had requested an audience—you should have treated him with friendly kindness, deferred to his opinion, and taken the opportunity of lamenting that M. Drakovics never sympathised with your difficult position, nor understood your troubles. When you received M. Drakovics, you would have used similar measures, and complained of Count Mortimer, intimating, of course, that he himself was the only friend you possessed in Thracia. In this way each man, without the other’s knowing it, would grow to imagine himself to be high in your favour and confidence, and would look on his rival with a jealous eye, until they began to quarrel about the right of private audience. You would remain unobservant all this time, except when you interfered to heighten the agony a little. Jealousy would end by leading to a quarrel in your presence, when you could at once get rid of them both.”
“It all sounds very wicked and very mysterious,” said the Queen, stifling a yawn; “but I could never succeed in that kind of thing. I haven’t the brains or the tact for politics, mamma. And even if one could deceive M. Drakovics—I can quite believe that his vanity would lend itself to such a course—I don’t think I should be successful with Count Mortimer. He seems to be able to see through things. I did try to win him over once—it was about Sophie von Staubach’s appointment—but he saw it immediately, and it made me feel so dreadfully uncomfortable, though he did take my side.”
“Then with him you must act differently. Some men prefer to be approached without disguise, and you can flatter his weaknesses openly.”
“But he has none. The King used to say, ‘Mortimer has no vices except ambition, no pleasures even—except power.’”
“Except ambition and power! But that is everything, for the love of power can ruin a man just as surely as any other vice. This makes me hopeful, Ernestine, for your husband was a shrewd observer of character. We must approach Count Mortimer on his weak side. It might be as well occasionally to hint at the possibility of his superseding M. Drakovics as Premier. That will put his own thoughts into words. Then, in the meantime, there are other ways. Money confers power. One might assist him to marry an heiress. He ought to marry; but no doubt his poverty has prevented him hitherto.”
“But, dear mamma, I have not an unlimited choice of heiresses at hand to offer him.”
“You have one, which is quite enough. There is your maid of honour, Anna Mirkovics—her father fully expects you to select a husband for her, and she will be the richest woman in Thracia at her mother’s death. It would be an excellent match.”
“But Anna is terribly plain, and has no education, according to our ideas. Besides, even if Count Mortimer married her, how would it detach him from M. Drakovics?”
“You are rather dense to-day, my dear child. Naturally, I do not propose that you should give Anna to the Count without exacting any conditions. You would, of course, agree with him that, in return for your help in arranging the marriage, he should support you in future against M. Drakovics. The girl is so absurdly devoted to you that her influence would all be cast in the same direction.”