He tried to get away, and his face grew very warm and passionate.
'Bela will be cruel, if he like,' he said, knitting his pretty brows.
Though he was not more than four years old he knew very well that he was the Count Bela, to whom all the people gave homage, crowding to kiss his tiny hand after Mass on holy-days. He was a very beautiful child, and all the prettier for his air of pride and resolution; he had been early put on a little mountain pony, and could ride fearlessly down the forest glades with Otto. All the imperiousness of the great race which had dealt out life and death so many centuries at their caprice through the Hohe Tauern seemed to have been inherited by him, coupled with a waywardness and a vanity that were not traits of the house of Szalras. It was impossible, even though those immediately about him were wise and prudent, to wholly prevent the effects of the adulation with which the whole household was eager to wait on every whim of the little heir.
'Bela wishes it!' he would say, with an impatient frown, whenever his desire was combated or crossed: he had already the full conviction that to be Bela was to have full right to rule the world, including in it his brother Gela, who was of a serious, mild, and yielding disposition, and gave up to him in all things. As compensating qualities he was very affectionate and sensitive, and easily moved to self-reproach.
With a step Sabran reached him. 'You dare to disobey your mother?' he said, sternly. 'Ask her forgiveness at once. Do you hear?'
Bela, who had never heard his father speak in such a tone, was very frightened, and lost all his colour; but he was resolute, and had been four years old on Ascension Day. He remained silent and obstinate.
Sabran put his hand heavily on the child's shoulder.
'Do you hear me, sir? Ask her pardon this moment.'
Bela was now fairly stunned into obedience.
'Bela is sorry,' he murmured. 'Bela begs pardon.'