“Nay,” she said steadily; “I will not give you my hand until you can prove worthy to touch it. I have heard evil things of you, Yury Apraxin. A man who would stab another unawares is a coward and an assassin.”
He started at her words, and his face flushed darkly.
“On my word!” he exclaimed passionately, “you have a shrew’s tongue in your head, fair relative; if you were a man, I would resent it.”
Najine laughed bitterly. “Doubtless,” she said dryly, “since I am the weaker of the two. A fair fight I could forgive, but I am sorry that a friend of mine can plan assassination and betray an innocent man into the hands of his enemies!”
Apraxin looked at her with a sneer on his face.
“I marvel at your boldness,” he said mockingly, “I would expect a modest maiden to hold her peace instead of quarrelling for the love of a Frenchman who doubtless has a sweetheart at home. For shame, Najine! you are a disgrace to your family, running about Moscow in search of this malapert coxcomb of a foreigner. It is well for you that he is safely out of your way,” he added with his unpleasant laugh.
Mademoiselle had flushed and paled during his speech, and I saw that she was quivering with anger and excitement, but she did not forget her rôle.
“You have murdered him,” she cried with affected despair. “I will denounce you to the czar.”
Apraxin laughed outright. “Have a care, Najine,” he said. “I have not murdered him, but the czar will.”
“What do you mean?” she cried with an agitation more real than affected. “The czar has given him his passports; it is you who have detained him.”