As he had so easily resisted her fascinations, so rudely refused her advances, so completely scorned her, she did not regard him as a man, but as some soulless creature, a werlion or wertiger sent on earth to plague mankind.
She fumbled at her laces with a quivering hand and darted a keen glance at the gloomy countenance of the Elector.
“Are you going to take these terms?” she demanded impetuously.
“Do you see anything else for me to do?” asked the disheartened Prince.
“Nothing a man like you _could_ do,” she replied sharply.
“Madame,” said M. Pfingsten, “there is the Muscovite army.”
“But where is the man to lead it?” asked Aurora, with a cruel glance at Augustus.
M. Pfingsten was encouraged by her presence, which breathed energy and vitality.
“Let your Majesty,” he urged, “tear up that paper--put yourself at the head of the army now in Varsovia and march on Saxony--there is nothing more to lose and everything to be gained.”
“Sir,” said the Countess bitterly, “you discuss expedients only possible with another prince--and with another prince we should not have been brought to this pass.”
Augustus flushed but could find no answer in his own defense.
“What is it that you propose to do?” she added sharply.
“To sign that paper and go to Saxony to entreat Sweden to soften these terms,” replied the unfortunate Elector; he was indeed so absorbed in the contemplation of his own misery as to hardly wince under Aurora’s scorn.
She tapped her foot in an angry silence; she saw this was the fatal way of weakness, which would have neither the dignity of defiance nor the advantage of concession, since she knew well enough that Karl would be merely irritated by any attempt to dispute his terms.
But she also knew the man with whom she had to deal, and that it was hopeless to expect even the semblance of heroism from a Prince like Augustus, overwhelmed by six years of a disastrous war that had stripped him of everything, even faith in himself.
There was a little silence, then the Countess added in a hard tone:
“Mdle. D’Einsiedel came here last night--hurrying from Dresden to beg for General Patkul’s release.”
“My God!” broke from Augustus, as he realized the baseness of the action he contemplated.