‘You love your country very dearly?’ she articulated timidly.
‘That remains to be shown,’ he answered. ‘When one of us dies for her, then one can say he loved his country.’
‘So that, if you were cut off all chance of returning to Bulgaria,’ continued Elena, ‘would you be very unhappy in Russia?’
Insarov looked down.
‘I think I could not bear that,’ he said.
‘Tell me,’ Elena began again, ‘is it difficult to learn Bulgarian?’
‘Not at all. It’s a disgrace to a Russian not to know Bulgarian. A Russian ought to know all the Slavonic dialects. Would you like me to bring you some Bulgarian books? You will see how easy it is. What ballads we have! equal to the Servian. But stop a minute, I will translate to you one of them. It is about... But you know a little of our history at least, don’t you?’
‘No, I know nothing of it,’ answered
Elena.
‘Wait a little and I will bring you a book. You will learn the principal facts at least from it. Listen to the ballad then.... But I had better bring you a written translation, though. I am sure you will love us, you love all the oppressed. If you knew what a land of plenty ours is! And, meanwhile, it has been downtrodden, it has been ravaged,’ he went on, with an involuntary movement of his arm, and his face darkened; ‘we have been robbed of everything; everything, our churches, our laws, our lands; the unclean Turks drive us like cattle, butcher us——’