"Do just see," exclaimed the Princess, in an affected tone, "how low-spirited he is! He has grown quite melancholy. For days together I cannot drive him from my side; he will not stir from me. If only he had something to talk about! But all he can do is to knit his brows and ruminate. I do beg of you, Fräulein Ilmarinen, in consideration of our alliance, to do me a favor. You are a perfect enchantress—just say one word to him. I am convinced it will cheer him."
"Do you really desire it?"
The look Prince Ghedimin cast upon Zeneida expressed both fear and uneasiness. He was "the chosen dictator." If Zeneida uttered the words "I sing," he must forthwith draw his sword out of its scabbard, exclaiming "I fight!"
Zeneida attempted the magician's feat of curing the Prince's melancholy with one word.
"The summer has quite left us, Prince, has it not? Winter is upon us."
A sufficiently commonplace remark! Imagine talking about the weather!
Prince Ghedimin acquiesced.
"And I fear we shall have a very unpleasant winter if we 'too' do not go to the Crimea or the Caucasus to luxuriate in a second summer."
A very ordinary speech! But that little word "too" had electrified the Prince. He seemed a changed man. His face brightened, his figure grew elastic; surely a miracle had happened to him!
"Come, my love," he said to the Princess, and, to her amazement, began humming an air from the overture of the Czarenwalzers as they went down the stairs.