“No.”
The leader of the gypsy band struck his cymbal. His brothers drew the first long wail from their fiddles. The crowd thronged in.
Fessenden raised his hands and placed them firmly about the slender waist of the Archduchess. “Put your hands on my shoulders,” he said. “I shall not let you go.”
She drew herself up rigidly for a moment, then obeyed him.
“I know who you are,” she said.
“So much the better,” replied Fessenden.
“This is a great moment in the history of Hungary!” said Zrinyi solemnly.
“It is!” said Alexandra.
“A daughter of the Emperor of Austria and a Hungarian peasant! What a symbol! It is full of portent!”