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Updated: June 22, 2025
It was the cold, passionless voice of Ankarstrom that spoke. "My pistol was loaded with rusty nails. I intended to make quite sure of ridding my country of that perjured tyrant." Armfelt stared at the prisoner a moment with furious, bloodshot eyes. Then he broke into imprecations, stemmed only when Lillesparre ordered Ankarstrom to be removed.
In all humility, Sire, let me suggest that you incur no risk; that you countermand the masquerade." "And permit the insolent writer to boast that he frightened the King?" sneered Bjelke. "Faith, Baron, you are right. The thing is written with intent to make a mock of me." "But if it were not so, Sire?" persisted the distressed Armfelt.
Presently came Duke Charles, the King's brother, and Benzelstjerna with the list of those who had been present at the ball. "Tell me," he asked, before the list was read to him, "is the name of Ankarstrom included in it?" "He was the last to sign, Sire," replied the chamberlain. The King smiled grimly. "Tell Lillesparre to have him arrested and questioned." Armfelt flung forward.
"There is another who should be arrested, too!" he cried fiercely. And added, "Bjelke!" "Bjelke?" The King echoed the name almost in anger at the imputation. Armfelt spoke torrentially. "It was he persuaded you to go against your own judgment when you had the warning, and at last induced you to it by offering to assume your own domino.
"Very well," he said, and suffered them to thrust him back into his carriage and carry him away to the waiting Lillesparre. He found Armfelt in the office of the chief of the police, haranguing Ankarstrom, who was already there under arrest. The favourite broke off as Bjelke was brought in. "You were privy to this infamy, Bjelke," he cried. "If the King does not recover " "He will not recover."
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.
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.
That letter may now be delivered to the King, for whom it is intended. Its fond messages may lighten the misery of his remaining hours." His face was contorted, with rage, thought Armfelt, who watched him, but in reality with pain caused by the poison that was corroding his vitals.
Baron Armfelt whom the conspirators accused of wielding the most sinister of all the sinister influences that perverted the King's mind dressed from head to foot in shimmering white satin, lounged on a divan with all the easy familiarity permitted to this most intimate of courtiers, the associate of all royal follies. Gustavus looked over his shoulder as he entered.
When he was gone, the chief of police turned to Bjelke. "It grieves me, Baron, that we should meet thus, and it is with difficulty that I can believe what is alleged against you. Baron Armfelt is perhaps rendered hasty by his grief and righteous anger. But I hope that you will be able to explain at least to deny your concern in this horrible deed." Very tense and white stood Bjelke.
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