"I demand an answer to my question," cried Dame Apafi in a loud voice.
"And what good will the answer do you, my lady?" inquired Teleki, pressing his index-finger to his lips.
"I shall at any rate know whether the place in which we now stand is worthy of us."
"It is not worthy, my lady. The present is no time for the Magyars to be proud that they dwell in Transylvania; we are ashamed to be the responsible ministers of a down-trodden, deserted, and captive nation. This your Highness ought to know as well as any of us, for it was a Turkish Pasha who placed your husband on the Prince's seat. And, assuredly, it would be a far less grief to us to lose our heads than to bend them humbly beneath the derisive honour of being the leaders of a people lying among ruins. But, at the most, history will only be able to say of us that we humbly bowed before necessity, that we bore the yoke of the stranger without dignity, that running counter to the feelings of our hearts and the persuasions of our minds, we covered our faces with shame, and yet that that very shame and dishonour saved the life of Transylvania, and that poor spot of earth which remained in our hands saved the whole country from a bloody persecution. We are the victims of the times, madam; help us to conceal the blush of shame and share it with us. There, you have the answer to your question."
Dame Apafi grew as pale as death, her head drooped, and she clasped her hands together.
"So we have come to this at last? Formerly valour was the national virtue, now it is cowardice. What is our own fate likely to be if we reject this poor woman? What has happened to-day to a Princess Ghyka might easily happen to the wives of Kornis and Csaky and Béldi to-morrow. For their husbands' faults they may be carried away captive, brought to the block, if only God does not have mercy upon them, for you yourselves say that this would be right. Why do you look at us? You, Béldi, Kornis, Teleki, Csaky, Bethlen, here stand your wives and daughters. Draw forth your coward swords, and if you dare not slay men, at least slay women; kill them before it occurs to the Turkish Padishah to drag them by the hair into his harem."
As Dame Apafi mentioned the names of the men one after another, their wives and daughters, loudly weeping, rushed towards them, and hiding their heads in their bosoms, with passionate sobs, begged for the unfortunate Princess, and behold the eyes of the men also filled with tears, and nothing could be heard in the room but the sobbing of the husbands mingled with the sobbing of their wives.
On Teleki's breast also hung the gentle Judith Veér and his own daughter Flora, and the great stony-hearted counsellor stood trembling between them; and although his cast-iron features assumed with an effort a rigorous expression, nevertheless a couple of unrestrainable tears suddenly trickled down the furrows of his face.
The Prince turned aside on his throne, and covering his face, murmured: "No more, Anna! No more!"
"Oh, Apafi!" cried the Princess bitterly; "if perish I must it shall not be by your hand. Anna Bornemissza has strength enough to meet death if there be no choice between that and shame. Be content, if Olaj Beg demands my death, I shall at least be spared the unpleasantness of falling at your feet in supplication. And now, pronounce your decision, but remember that every word you say will resound throughout the Christian world."