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It was an ejaculation of horror from Armfelt, whose face was now as white as the ivory-coloured suit he wore. "What else? Am I to be intimidated out of my pleasures?" Yet that his heart was less stout than his words his very next question showed. "Apropos, Bjelke, what was the reason why you countermanded the ball last week?"
He had discovered it by the perilous course of joining the conspirators. He had won their confidence, and they recognized that his collaboration was rendered invaluable by the position he held so near the King. And in his subtle wisdom, at considerable danger to himself, Bjelke had kept his counsel.
"A letter for His Majesty a note fragrant as a midsummer rose which a servant has just delivered to me. Will you take it?" "Give it to me, impudence," said Bjelke, the ghost of a smile lighting for a moment his white face. He took the letter and passed on into the last antechamber, which was empty of all but a single chamberlain-in-waiting. This chamberlain bowed respectfully to the Baron.
Gustavus asked. Bjelke shrugged. "The hand will be disguised, no doubt," he evaded. "But you will heed the warning, Sire?" exclaimed, Armfelt, who had read over the secretary's shoulder, and whose face had paled in reading. Gustavus laughed contemptuously. "Faith, if I were to heed every scaremonger, I should get but little amusement out of life." Yet he was angry, as his shifting colour showed.
"His Majesty?" said Bjelke. "He is dressing. Shall I announce Your Excellency?" "Pray do." The chamberlain vanished, and Bjelke was left alone. Waiting, he stood there, idly fingering the scented note he had received from the page. As he turned it in his fingers the superscription came uppermost, and he turned it no more.
"Why, Bjelke," he exclaimed, "I thought you had gone into the country!" "I am at a loss," replied Bjelke, "to imagine what should have given Your Majesty so mistaken an impression." And he might have smiled inwardly to observe how his words seemed to put Gustavus out of countenance. The King laughed, nevertheless, with an affectation of ease.
Baron Bjelke sprang from his carriage almost before it had come to a standstill and without waiting for the footman to let down the steps. With a haste entirely foreign to a person of his station and importance, he swept into the great vestibule of the palace, and in a quivering voice flung a question at the first lackey he encountered: "Has His Majesty started yet?" "Not yet, my lord."
But when the secretary had repeated the proposal which had earlier gone unheard, Gustavus caught at it with sudden avidity, and with but little concern for the danger that Bjelke might be running. He sprang up, applauding it.
The valet glided forward, whilst Armfelt rose from the divan and, like Bjelke, attracted by the sudden change in the King's tone and manner, drew near his master. "How comes this letter here?" The valet's face expressed complete amazement. It must have been placed there in his absence an hour ago, after he had made all preparations for the royal toilette.
The chief of police took it up, began to read, turned back to the superscription, then resumed his reading, a dull flush overspreading his face. Over his shoulder Armfelt, too, was reading. But Bjelke cared not. Let all the world behold that advertisement of royal infamy, that incriminating love-letter from Bjelke's wife to the King who had dishonoured him. Lillesparre was stricken dumb.
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