“And think you that the Princess Daria will choose you?” he asked contemptuously.
I returned his glance with equal pride. “And why not, monsieur?” I said quietly. “I am her husband.”
He laughed at that, as I have seen men laugh before they engage a deadly enemy.
“There are such things as divorces,” he said suavely, “and other—ways of removal.”
“Assassination, M. le Prince,” I suggested. “It has been tried. In France I am accounted wise enough to save my head.”
“It is well, sir,” he said; “I would advise you to use that wisdom now.” He pointed southward. “The road to Moscow lies there,” he added courteously, “and fifty roubles for your expenses—as a profit for the rescue of the princess.”
“You insult me, sir,” I said scornfully; “yonder is my wife, and yonder will I go,” and I rode forward, in defiance, to her side.
All this while we had been progressing slowly on the road to Troïtsa, and as I went forward the whole procession quickened its pace. As my horse came alongside of hers, the princess turned a pale face toward me.
“Monsieur, I pray you be advised,” she said, very low, “and anger him not. He seems a smooth man and courteous, but he has a violent spirit, and look you—you are one against all these, his slaves. ’Tis useless—’tis worse than useless!”
“And you?” I said, “and you—obey him through fear?”