"Betsey!" replied the virago.
"Ah, why Betsey? Such a coarse, common name for such a tender child! I would call her Elise, that is far prettier. Besides, the two names mean one and the same thing."
"Nay, nay, you will spoil the child, sir. As if she was not spoilt enough by her father already. Peasant folks call their daughters Betsey or Polly; Elise and Lisetta are the names of gentlefolks' children. You must not listen to such nonsense, child; but go and tell your father that there is a gentleman here from Poland who wants to speak to him immediately before he lies down."
The child timidly withdrew her little hand from the stranger's, who seemed very disinclined to let it go, and hastened to her father's room.
The stranger thereupon tidied up his clothing, smoothed back his hair on both sides of his forehead, thereby giving to his features a gentle amiable expression, and softly tapped at the headsman's door.
"Come in!" resounded a deep melancholy voice from within.
The unknown youth entered and carefully closed the door behind him.
The moment he was well within the room, the smile of frivolous braggadocio he had lately assumed entirely disappeared from his face; the defiantly thrown back head bent meekly down; a look of devout inspiration was visible on the thin lips and in the veiled eyes; the whole figure of the man seemed to have grown smaller, the shoulders contracted, the breast receded; he had now the air of a gracious and benignant missionary.
And a benignant missionary indeed it was who now stood face to face with the headsman.
The herculean figure of the headsman arose slowly and tremulously, and while his hand with furtive anxiety sought the hand of the little girl, he asked the stranger in a scarcely audible voice what he required of him. Perchance the latter did not catch what he said, he spoke so low.