“Duty, duty! All that you consider is your duty to M. Drakovics. Have you no duty to the King and to me?”
“Undoubtedly, madame. In this instance the duties coincide.”
“Why do you trifle with me in this way, Count? You promised my husband that you would befriend us—now I call upon you to fulfil your promise. We need a new party in Thracia, such a party as supported your English George III., the party of the King’s Friends, and you are the man to lead them.”
“I did not know that your Majesty was ambitious of becoming a power in politics,” returned Cyril, desperately puzzled as to her meaning. Surely she must have some object in talking in this apparently random way?
“What can I offer you to secure your allegiance, Count? We cannot expect to obtain support without paying for it, I know. Would you care to marry a rich wife? Prince Mirkovics’s daughter is in my charge, and with her fortune it would be very suitable for her to marry a Minister of State. Or would you prefer the reversion of the post which M. Drakovics holds? or both, perhaps?”
Cyril stood listening in astonishment as she ran on, half afraid to glance at his face, but determined to put him to the proof. “Madame——” he began, but she interrupted him.
“Or there is money, of course. We are not very rich in Weldart, but still, one can assist one’s friends occasionally. Would you——”
This time it was Cyril’s turn to interrupt. “Be good enough, madame,” he said fiercely, “to leave your sentence unfinished. I can forgive much in consideration of your youth; but it is impossible that you can be so childish as not to appreciate the insult you have thought fit to offer me.”
The Queen sat gazing at him helplessly, too much frightened to resent his words. “I am very sorry——” she murmured feebly; “I never thought—— I did not mean——”
“It is a pity that I promised your husband to remain in Thracia and do my best for you and his son, madame,” he went on, “for otherwise your Majesty would have succeeded by this time in driving me from your service, as you desire to do.”