"Because," stammered Ghyka, "because—we may—and very speedily, too—have to set out on our travels."
"Have to travel—in my condition?" asked Mariska, raising a pathetic face up to her husband.
That look transfixed the very soul of Ghyka. His wife was in a condition nearer to death than to life.
"No, I won't stir a stump," he suddenly cried, beside himself with agitation, striking his sword so violently on the table that it flew from its sheath, "if heaven itself fall on me, I won't go."
"For God's sake, my husband, what is the matter?" cried Mariska in her astonishment; whereupon the Prince proudly raised his eyebrows, approached her with a smile, and pressing his wife to his bosom, said reassuringly:
"Fear nothing. I had an idea in my head; but I have dismissed it, and will think of it no more. Take it that I have asked you nothing."
"But your anxiety?"
"It has gone already. Ask not the reason, for you would laugh at me for it. Sleep in peace. I also will sleep upon it."
The husband caressed and kissed his wife, and his hand trembled no longer, his face was no longer pale, and his lips were no longer so cold as before.
But the wife's were now. When her husband tenderly kissed her eyes and bade her sleep, she pretended that she was satisfied; but as soon as he had withdrawn from her room, she arose, put on a dressing-gown, and calling one of her maids, descended with her into the hall, and sent for a faithful old servant of her husband's, who was wont to accompany him everywhere, an old Moldavian courier.