Bora smiled mysteriously.
"I will say no more than this," he remarked, "that you will certainly live to regret the rejection of my suit."
"You evade my question. Let me then express what is in your mind. My lord, by favor of the Czar, you expect to reign over Czernova; you seek to usurp my throne. But knowing that so long as I live, your throne would always be insecure, you would make me your wife, not from love, not from generosity or pity, but merely to give validity to your title. Have I not read your cowardly motive aright?"
She had—accurately.
Unaware how much the princess had learned of his secret dealings, the fatuous Bora had come in the full assurance that the approach of a Russian army and the consequent rumors of annexation would have disposed her to welcome his suit as a means of retaining her throne. He now perceived his error. The princess was not so timid a person as he had thought. Her stern manner somewhat alarmed him. He began to regret his imprudence in thus venturing into her presence.
"In short, your grace, marriage with you is the only thing that can save me from deposition. Is not that what you would say?"
"You reject my suit? Good! Then let this interview terminate," said Bora, rising as if to depart.
The princess restrained him by a haughty gesture.
"Keep your seat, or I shall call the guard."
The duke obeyed, trembling now for his own safety. Never had he seen the princess looking so angry.