Looking in his eye, no one could doubt that he would be as good as his word, but my blood was up, and but for the absolute folly of such a course, on the steps of the monastery, I would have engaged him then and there, and forgotten that he was my father-in-law, but as it was I kept my hand off my sword, lest I should yield to temptation, for my fingers itched to draw it.
“You are pleased to threaten me, monsieur,” I said coolly, “but you mistake your opponent. I care naught for your threats or your power. I have married the Princess Daria, and, by Saint Denis, she alone can choose! I will give her up to none, and I will see her, monsieur, if you and fifty of your slaves bar the way with drawn swords. Au revoir, M. le Prince, I will delay you no longer; we understand each other, as I think.”
He smiled fiercely, fingering his dagger.
“We do, sir, and we will,” he said, and bowed formally in reply to my grave salute.
Then he went down, the torches streaming fire before him, and the great figure of Piotr walking solemnly behind, and I stood on the steps, gnawing my lips with suppressed fury, and watching them proceed to a small chapel where they were singing mass.
After that I set about finding the princess. Somewhere, under the wing of these cloisters, the high-born women were sheltered, but where? I knew not, and again and again regretted my stupidity in not bringing Maluta. Either the prince had corrupted the people of the monastery with bribes, or they were reticent to foreigners, for, though I spent the greater part of the night in making inquiries and offering money, I heard nothing, and morning found me as ignorant as ever of Daria’s fate. That she was still there, I could not doubt; the place was full of fugitives from Moscow as well as the usual army of pilgrims, and the country was not in a state for travellers unless in large parties, and the prince’s serfs were still in force at Troïtsa, for I saw his liveries everywhere. Morning found me watching the processions of the devout, going from shrine to shrine with many genuflexions and prostrations, the sinner and the unabsolved penitent kneeling in the porticos. Among these numerous worshippers were many women, and I searched each group eagerly for one figure and searched in vain, and once or twice I thought I was followed, which would not have surprised me, knowing Voronin’s bitter enmity. Yet I could not be certain, though once I came upon two men who were watching me, by the corner of the chapel. Two burly fellows, wearing the dress of well-to-do merchants, but looking the part of ruffians to the life, and one had a deep purple mark upon his forehead that seemed to me familiar. But it was just after this chance encounter that something occurred that put the pair entirely out of my mind. I had left their neighbourhood and was walking in a quiet angle of the great cloister, listening to the sweet chime of the bells, when I heard my name called softly, and wheeling about, saw a veiled female figure standing in the shadow of the wall. For one wild moment I thought it the princess, and then I saw that the figure was shorter and rounder, and even before she partly lifted her fata I recognised Vassalissa, and blessed my good fortune. I was so overjoyed to see her that I could have embraced her, but she was poised lightly as a bird, ready to fly and in breathless haste.
“Hush—yes, monsieur, it is I,” she whispered, laughing, and retreating a little at my eagerness; “I am away from the dragon—but, in an instant, I must go back—she is at the chapel—no, no, not Daria!” She laughed at my excitement. “Only old Yekaterina.”
“But where is the Princess Daria?” I demanded; “has she hidden herself from me—or is it the prince’s doing?”
“A little of both, monsieur,” replied the girl roguishly; “she is afraid of you, I believe; you know husbands so often beat their wives and——”
“Sapristi!” I exclaimed; “do you imagine—does she dream that I would strike a woman?”