"That I will not permit, my lord," muttered Banfy, between his teeth.
He was already white as a corpse. All the blood seemed to have settled in his eyes as at a focal point. All his muscles quivered with rage and shame.
"My lords,"—rang out a bell-like voice, the sound of which was grateful in this rude contest of men. It was Madame Apafi who had stepped between the prostrate lady and the men.—"Formerly noble men were wont to honor noble women."
"You are on hand again, to defend those whom I bring to justice," said the Prince, with annoyance.
"I am on hand to save your Highness from an injustice; to defend my sister is always my right; when everybody fails her then it certainly is my duty."
With these words the Princess put her arms around Margaret who, feeling herself supported by the stronger nature suddenly sank down in a faint in her sister's arms, her overtaxed physical and mental strength failing her. Banfy would have hastened to his wife's aid but Madame Apafi held him back.
"Go," she said, "I will assume the care of her."
"So you intend to remain here?" said the Prince to his wife, in a tone wavering between anger and sympathy.
"My sister needs me—and you, I see, do not."
Since Apafi had heard his wife speak his voice had become noticeably dejected, and fearing that she would utterly rout him he left the battlefield in great haste with only half a triumph.