“Madame,” he replied, “I will discuss peace in Varsovia.”
Before this implacable front Aurora shrank; he meant then to take the capital?
She knew that Augustus could not defend Varsovia, and her quick mind foresaw the last misery of a flight to Saxony; she was quite aware that the Poles would probably tolerate Karl at least as peacefully as they did Augustus, and that the latter’s chances of retaining the crown were indeed desperate.
“Nay,” she said faintly, flinging back her head with a womanish gesture, and holding out one little hand, from which she had stripped the heavy glove, in an attitude of appeal. “Can one so great be so hard to the fallen?”
This was not the kind of compliment that flattered the iron pride of Karl; it always irritated him that anyone should believe him capable of being moved by fulsome flattery, and it was his particular weakness to consider himself impervious to the wiles of man or woman.
“Your horse will take cold, Madame,” he said. “I give you good day.”
He saluted and was turning away; Aurora thought of her last card that was to have been played in such a different manner, with so much more of finesse and address.
“I was empowered to treat on the subject of--General Patkul,” she stammered.
At that name Karl did stop and turn his head; he seemed amazed and almost as if about to be betrayed into passionate speech, but he controlled himself.
“Would Augustus surrender Patkul?” he asked, in a curious tone.
Aurora could not answer; she felt as if she had committed an incredible baseness.
“He would, eh?” added Karl, with a look that was like a blow in the face to the proud woman to whom it was directed.
“So that is your errand?” continued the King, still fixing her with a hard and merciless stare that became increasingly contemptuous.
“I have not stated my errand,” replied Aurora; her eyes flashed to meet his and the blood stained her face. “From the manner in which your Majesty treats a woman, I do not think you would be tender with a rebel--need we therefore be so nice in discussing General Patkul?”
“It is not in my nature to be tender,” said the King, with his ugly smile. “I shall not be merciful either with Patkul nor yet with Augustus of Saxony.”
“Your Majesty makes a boast of cruelty, then? I had hoped one of your nobleness would have been satisfied by having your enemy your supplicant.”