“Are you dumb, my daughter?” demanded Voronin scornfully. “Answer him—I bid you!”
“Nay, M. le Prince,” I said proudly. “Of her own free will or not at all.”
He bowed his head, smiling bitterly. “Do I force her?” he asked.
“Mme. la Princesse,” I said, “ask you, for the last time, will you answer me of your free will, or do you fear to do so?”
“Of my free will,” she answered, in a low voice, but very proudly.
“Will you be my wife still?” I asked gently. “Will you accept my love and henceforth bear my name?”
She took a step backward and stood quite alone and erect.
“I thank you, monsieur, for my life,” she said firmly, “and for standing between me and Kurakin—I thank you. But—it is well for you to go away—it is well to leave me. I cannot be—be your wife.” She hesitated, drew her breath quickly, and then added, in a clear low tone, “I do not love you.”
I bowed profoundly, and without a word I turned and walked across the bear skins, down the broad stone steps, into the crowded court, where I saw only hostile faces and the flash of naked steel.