“You speak boldly, girl,” he said sternly. “Are you not ashamed?”
Najine rose and stood before him, her face as white as her robe, but her eyes shone like two stars.
“I am not ashamed, sire,” she answered proudly, “to love a brave and loyal gentleman.”
Peter uttered an exclamation under his breath, regarding her with an expression in which anger and admiration were mingled. Never before had any woman faced him with the declaration of her loyalty to another man, and it must have made a strong impression upon him. It was a strange picture. The nobles about him had drawn back until the two stood in the center of a large space, the massive figure of the czar overshadowing the slight form of mademoiselle, but there was a simple dignity in the pose of her young figure that was striking. Peter was silent for some moments, and then spoke with bitterness.
“By my faith, Najine Alexeievna,” he said, “I did not know that you were asking a bridegroom at my hands!”
The blood rose to her hair, but she answered him in an unfaltering voice.
“Oh, little father,” she said, “I ask his liberty—his life!”
“And if I refuse, what then?” the czar asked sternly, his dark eyes searching her face and his lips closing in a hard line.
She turned pale and cast a bewildered glance at me, and I saw that her courage was sorely tried, and fancied that she was distressed by the tidings that she had heard before coming there. She took a step forward, and held out her hands with a gesture that was pathetic in its appeal.
“I dare not think of your Majesty’s refusal,” she said; “I will not believe it.”