He might indeed be used to triumphs; few men of his years had ever had a career of such uninterrupted success, and perhaps he was already indifferent to the haughty position of conqueror or at least too well used to it; he stood a moment holding up a little lamp and looking at the two Saxon gentlemen who stood, still in their traveling cloaks, bare-headed before him.
For the first second they did not know who stood before them; they were used to the magnificence and display of Augustus that he maintained even in his downfall, and Karl in his plain coat and short hair looked like an infantryman.
“The King,” said Count Piper, with a curious pride in the man whom he disliked.
Karl cut short their rather confused compliments.
“You are from the Elector of Saxony?” he demanded sternly, and set the lantern on the table.
“And what does the Elector want?” asked Karl.
The Saxon was a little taken aback; he had not been prepared to meet the King with so little ceremony, to converse with him with this dry abruptness.
With a bow he handed Karl the letter of Augustus, in which that monarch entreated for peace on any terms.
“Why this secrecy, gentlemen?” he asked, with his sudden, unpleasant smile.
The two plenipotentiaries were silent; they found themselves in that position in which it is difficult to do anything with dignity or even with grace.
“The Czar of Russia knows nothing of these negotiations?” demanded Karl.
“Sire,” said Baron D’Imhof, “my master wished this to be between himself and you.”
“He is ready then to abandon his ally who is not yet prepared to submit?” asked the King, his face, still as smooth as a mask of stone, unmarked by care or emotion, and radiant with the look of perfect health turned full towards the two Germans, and his strange eyes, chill and blue as his Northern seas, swept them with a glance of cold contempt. Again the Germans were silent.
“The Czar does not know of this letter?” demanded Karl.
“If he had known it would never have been sent, I think,” said Karl. “Your master did well to keep this matter secret, seeing he is at the mercy of the Muscovites.”
“Sire, my master’s actions are dictated by necessity,” replied Baron D’Imhof. “He trusts a conqueror whom the world knows clement.”