"You will live to repent this, Lieutenant Petrovitch."
"At your service," I replied, quietly with a bow. He was white to the lips with anger when he rose to go, and he seemed as if fighting to keep back the utterance of some hot insult that rose to his tongue. But his rage got no farther than ugly looks, and he was still wrestling with his agitation when he left the room.
I could understand his chagrin. He would have dearly liked to force me at the point of the sword to consent, and the knowledge that this was no longer possible, that in some way which of course he could not understand I had broken his influence and was no longer afraid of him, galled and maddened him almost beyond endurance. He looked the baffled bully to the life.
It was two days before I had an opportunity of speaking to Olga about it. I had made a rule of seeing her daily if possible, lest anything should happen that needed explanation by her; but she was away the next day and our daily "business conference," did not take place.
She took the matter very curiously when I did mention it, however. She was a creature of changing moods, indeed.
"I have a serious matter to speak to you about; something that may perhaps surprise you," I said, when we were riding. "I am the bearer of a message to you."
"To me?" her face wrinkling with curiosity.
"Yes, to you. I have to be very much the brother in this; in fact the head of the family," and then without much beating about the bush I told her of Devinsky's visit and of his desire to make her his wife.
She listened to me very seriously, scanning my face the while; but did not interrupt me. I had expected a contemptuous and passionate refusal. But her attitude was simply a conundrum. She heard me out to the end with gravity, and when I had finished, reined in her horse and for a full minute stared point-blank into my eyes.
Then she laughed lightly, and asked as she sent her horse forward again:—