HIS MAJESTY DIES TO-MORROW
He was carried beyond thinking of what effect his outburst might have on his own fortunes or how it might distress the already harassed King. He struck back fiercely at his accuser, all his national quickness of passion finding vent in the torrent of words he poured forth in excuse or justification. He spoke his native French, very quickly, one word jostling over another, his arms flying like windmills, and his hair bristling, as it seemed, with defiance.
"Yes, it's true, sir. I disobeyed your Majesty— for the first time in thirty years! For the first time in my life, sir, I did it! And why? Because it was right; because it was for honor. I was angry, yes! I had been scolded because Count Alexis bade me call him 'Prince,' and you heard me do it. Yes, I was angry. Was it my fault? Had I told him he was a prince? No! Who had told him he was a prince? Don't ask me, sir. Ask somebody else. For my part, I know well the difference between one who is a prince and one who is not. Oh, I'm not ignorant of that! I know, too, the difference between one who is a queen and one who is not—oh, with the utmost respect to Madame la Comtesse! But I know it—and I remember it. Does everybody else remember it?"
He stopped for a moment and clutched at his stiff, tight collar, as though to wrench it away from his neck, and let the stream of his words flow even more freely. While he paused, nobody spoke. Stenovics's heavy gaze was on the King, Stafnitz's eyes discreetly on the ceiling; the Countess looked scared. Had they made a mistake? Would it have been better to run the risk of what Lepage could do? The King's hands were on the table in front of him; they trembled where they lay.
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