‘A dog on two legs was this, Tsar,’ said Maria; ‘one who is called Olga Panief.’
‘What mean you, Maria?’ asked Sophia sternly. ‘Do you say her hand is bitten, and by this Cossack minx?’
‘So it was, Highness. There was a quarrel, which Olga began and ended, began with insult and ended with biting.’
‘Fie, Panief!’ cried the Regent. ‘Go forth, minx, we will have no biters here. Was thy mother a wolf, that thou must tear thy companions with tooth and claw? Shame, wench—go forth, I say!’
‘Drive her away quickly, Galitsin, I am afraid of her,’ said Ivan whimpering. ‘Who can tell? she may turn and bite us all; let her go quickly and return no more!’
Olga left the terem in tears, but she turned at the door and shook her fist at Praskovia and at Maria, neither of whom took any further notice of her.
Then the Regent raised Praskovia’s wounded hand and looked at it.
‘See the poor wounded hand!’ she said. ‘See, Ivan, where the cruel teeth went in! How shall we cure it for her?’
‘Kiss it with thy lips, Ivan Alexeyevitch!’ cried Galitsin with a laugh. ‘I warrant that will heal the wound better than all the herbs and medicines the leech can give her!’
‘Yes, kiss it, Golúbchik!’ said Sophia.