“Do I love him?” she repeated innocently; “who, sir—my father?”
“No, no!” I cried, in fierce haste, my heart beating wildly, “your lover.”
Then she cast a bewildering glance at me. “Which?” she asked, and this time I saw a dimple come and go in her cheek.
I urged my horse closer, and had my hand on her bridle when the prince’s runners came panting up to us, and the three horses were halted before us. He had recognised his daughter and beckoned to her. Every vestige of colour and of life faded out of her face, a moment before rosy and inscrutable, and she would have obeyed, but I rode forward instead, and halting beside his excellency’s carriage, I uncovered and greeted him with the courtesy I would show my equals in France. I told him that I had brought his daughter to him, and he eyed me coldly from head to foot. He was a handsome, dignified man, with white hair and a ruddy skin and clear blue eyes. Nothing, however, could exceed his hauteur; he could have matched the Grand Monarque himself in manner, and, in his own domain, he was as great an autocrat. His whole glance at me said, more plainly than words, “and who are you?” but he acknowledged my information with a stately gesture, at once dignified and courteous. Then he spoke a word in Russ to the slave at his feet, who rose and, opening a long bag, or pouch, began to gather up a handful of roubles, I looking on in some amazement while the slave counted them. Then Voronin spoke again, and this time audibly.
“Nay, twenty roubles more, Vasali,” he said; “would you stint the pay of a man who rescued my daughter?”
Saint Denis! did he take me for a lackey? My wrath well-nigh choked me.
“You mistake, M. le Prince,” I said, in a low voice, that the serfs in attendance might not hear; “I have brought back your daughter—as my wife!”
The slave at his feet, who heard me, dropped the bag of gold and fell on his knees gaping, while the prince merely stared at me, as if he thought me mad. Very briefly, therefore, I told him the story of Sophia and the painted gallery and the marriage, and as I did so, the Princess Daria rode up and drew rein beside me. Many emotions had played across the prince’s strong face as I spoke, but at the end it was inscrutable. He turned his stern eyes on his daughter.
“Is this true?” he asked, in a deep voice.
“It is true,” she replied, very low, “and he saved my life!”