The woman screamed, dragging herself backward over the turf away from him.
"You—you," she cried, in a breathless whisper, her hands at her mouth,—"you are—Zuan—Gradenigo?"
"Why—yes!" said he. "I thought you knew."
She stumbled to her feet, staring and sobbing.
"Oh, what have I done? What have I done?" she cried, over and over again, and she moved still farther away, staring at him as if he were a ghost risen against her.
"What have I done?" she whispered. Then all at once she began a sobbing, hysterical laugh—a laugh that shook all her slim body, like weeping, and it seemed that she would never have done with it. She covered her face with her hands, leaning against a tree which grew near by, and the fit of endless laughter swept her like a storm. Young Zuan watched her under his brows with a sort of gloomy resentment. Women, he had been told by those of experience, were creatures of strange and incomprehensible moods, ruled, like a horse, by divers vagaries and not at all by reason. This mad fit of hysteria was, he took it, therefore to be endured as patiently as might be, but he had small store of patience.
"Oh, lord," said the woman, presently, gasping between her fits of laughter, tears in her eyes—"lord, there is a thing which I must tell you—an amazing thing. I do not know whether you will be glad or angry of it. In any case I must tell you at once—"
"Wait!" said Zuan, and held up a hand. "I must know first about this maid, Natalia Volutich, whom you stole away. What have you done with her, princess?" His tone was very grave and stern.
"The maid Natalia," said she, "has been well treated, lord. She has come to no harm. If this war had not arisen she would have been sent back safely to her father before now."