“Hush, hush, little Highness! You should not say that!” Poor Garrassime in the bitterness of his heart could have wept aloud.
“And why not?” questioned the miniature tyrant he worshiped. “It is true. She is never like Aunt Tatiana, nor Aunt Nàstia—nor my little darling Malou, either. Where is my little darling Malou, Garrassime? Do send for her to come and play with me as we did at Plenhöel on the pebbles. Why can’t you?”
His straight brows quivered as he raised those brilliant eyes of his to his patient attendant.
“Why can’t he what?” Tatiana de Salvières asked, entering from the veranda door in her quick, resolute way.
“Send for my little darling Malou!” stoutly responded Piotr. “I am Prince Pierre Palitzin. Why should not people do my bidding?”
“You are Prince Dourák Palitzin,” laughed the Duchess, “when you speak like that. Yes, Prince ‘Donkey’ Palitzin, and that adds no grace to the name. Do your bidding indeed, illustrious Sir! Wait until the littlest ones are not able to eat their soup off your head before you assume command of us all.”
With immense dignity Piotr drew himself up. “I am very tall for my age,” he gravely declared. “Cousin Pavlo was saying it only this morning.”
“Cousin Pavlo is my son, Piotr, so I know that he often speaks great nonsense. Still, you are tallish for your age, and especially old enough to understand that you can’t always have your own way.”
“About little darling Malou, you mean, Aunt Tatiana?”
“About her, if you like, and about many other things, too. She, for instance, is not in Russia, so how could she play with you?”