He shook her off, but he bit his lip. As for me, I folded my arms on my breast and stood firmly, in the centre of the hall.
“M. le Prince,” I said quietly, “I am your daughter’s husband; I must speak to her, and learn her will from her own lips.”
“From the hands of my slaves, rather!” he cried fiercely, his eagle eye kindling. “Do you beard me in my own house, fool?”
“Nay, monsieur,” I replied, unmoved; “but I must have my answer. As she wills it—so will it be.”
His face worked furiously, Galitsyn muttered below his breath, fingering his weapon. All about us, in a constantly narrowing circle, gathered the fierce-eyed serfs. The red light of many torches rose and fell. Daria stood like a statue.
“Answer him,” commanded Voronin fiercely, “answer him, you little fool, and have it done; the fellow raves!”
“Madame,” I said to her, low and tenderly, “I love you—I am your husband, if you will. Answer me without fear or favour, for I will surely defend you.”
She looked up and her dark eyes met mine, and slowly, very slowly, the colour of an early rose came softly to her cheeks, but her expression was inscrutable. She looked indeed the picture of pride.
“Do you love me, madame?” I whispered. “Will you remain my wife?”
The stillness of the place was like the stillness of those vast steppes, out in the night. I heard her draw her breath—as in a dream, I saw the ring of fierce faces, the streaming fire, the proud figures of the two princes with their hands on their swords, and behind them the child, her cousin, watching with eager eyes. Outside, in the court, a thin, high voice began to chant the welcome song for the princely guest, but with it there was the clash of swords. She did not speak.