The screams and curses that were the result of my innocent proposition so alarmed me, that for a moment I feared I should share the fate of Orpheus.
Letting go of her dwarf, Noémi sprang towards me like a tigress, seized my yellak, for I wore the Albanian costume, and said to me, her eyes blazing with anger:
"If you try to go away, and leave us here, we will set the palace on fire, and, holding you in our arms, we will all be burned together."
The majority of the rebels seemed to be delighted with such an idea, for they screamed out louder than ever:
"Yes, yes, let us take the good Frank in our arms, and all perish with him in the flames of his palace."
I observed a trait that was worthy of La Bruyère. The gentle Anathasia was one of the most ferocious of the incendiary party.
Although this threatened mode of death was worthy of Sardanapalus, I preferred to live as I was, and being now quite convinced that I was adored by my household, I told them that I renounced my projects of departure.
My modesty forbids me saying with what effusion, what transports of joy, my decision was welcomed by those good girls.
The whole twelve of them took hold of each other's hands, and formed a circle. Noémi, as the antique theorist, improvised these simple words, which her companions repeated to the air of their national hymn, "The Swallows."
"At Khios we remain,
Dance, sisters, dance,
At Khios we remain,
We stay with the good Frank.