These words, uttered in a haughty tone, offended the general. He answered, in a somewhat irritated voice: “You forget that my power knows no limits when it is a question of serving the king.”
“Unless,” said Schumacker, “it were those of the respect due to misfortune. But men know nothing of that.”
The ex-chancellor said this as if speaking to himself. The governor heard him.
“Yes, indeed! yes, indeed! I was wrong, Count Griff—Mr. Schumacker, I should say; I should leave the privilege of anger to you, since the power is mine.”
Schumacker was silent for a moment. “There is,” he resumed thoughtfully, “something about your face and voice, Governor, which reminds me of a man I once knew. It was very long ago. No one but myself can remember those days. It was in the time of my prosperity. He was one Levin de Knud, of Mecklenburg. Did you ever know the foolish fellow?”
“I knew him,” quietly replied the general.
“Oh, you remember him! I thought it was only in adversity that we remembered.”
“Was he not a captain in the Royal Guards?” added the governor.
“Yes, a mere captain, although the king loved him dearly. But he thought of nothing but pleasure, and seemed to have no ambition. He was a strange, mad fellow. Can you conceive that a favorite could be so moderate in his desires?”
“I can understand it.”