‘Your Highness wished to say,’ I suggested, ‘that if the Boyarishnya Vera——’
‘If she were not older than I, she might do for me when it is my turn to marry, next year.’
‘Say, rather, if she were not promised to another,’ said I, flushing. Peter frowned.
‘Another? What other?’ he asked.
‘Your Highness came to arrange my suit,’ I said, angrily enough; ‘not to seek a bride for your own marrying.’
‘Oh—oh! the Tsar must choose first! But, Lord, what a thundercloud is in thy face! Cheer up, man! is thy happiness bound up in this wench?’
‘I did not look to have the Tsar for a rival,’ I blurted. ‘This is not fair dealing, Peter Alexeyevitch!’
‘There is no rivalry yet. Fear not, she is too old for me. My mother will have me take a wife of sixteen; this one is nineteen, or near it, but she is handsome——’
‘Fear not, man,’ he suddenly continued, giving me a mighty slap upon the back: ‘thou shalt be Hetman as soon as I am true Tsar, and then this old fool shall let thee take his girl.’
‘Now the Tsar speaks,’ I said, relieved and gratified. ‘I knew not who spoke in thy voice before.’