"Go, with God!" said she, with dignity.
The Cossack's heart was pressed. She said the words he wanted, but not in the way he wanted.
"Well I know," said he, "that you are angry with me, that you hate me; but I tell you that another would have been worse to you than I. I brought you here, for I could not do otherwise; but what harm have I done you? Have not I treated you well, like a queen? Tell me yourself. Am I such an outlaw that you will not give me a kind word? And, moreover, you are in my power."
"I am in the power of God," said she, with the same dignity as before; "but because you restrain yourself in my presence, I thank you for that."
"Then I go with even such a word. Maybe you will regret me; maybe you will be sorry."
Helena was silent.
"I am sorry to leave you here alone," said Bogun, "sorry to go away; but I must. It would be easier for me if you were to smile, if you were to give a crucifix with a sincere heart. What can I do to appease you?"
"Give me back my freedom, and God will forgive you all, and I will forgive and bless you."
"Maybe you will forgive me yet; maybe you will be sorry yet that you have been so harsh to me."
Bogun wished to buy a word of farewell, even for half a promise which he did not think of keeping, and got what he wanted, for a light of hope gleamed in Helena's eyes and the harshness vanished from her face. She crossed her arms on her breast and fixed a clear glance on him.