“Forgive me!” answered the girl in a low musical voice. “I did not think my song of praise would reach your ear. It was meant only for my God and Saviour.”
“Is your God then deaf, that you must sing so loud?” asked the Queen, sharply.
“He is not deaf, blessed be His name!” exclaimed the maiden, with enthusiasm, “neither is His arm shortened that it cannot save. Oh! if you—”
“Stop!” cried the angry Queen, “you have presumed to talk to me thus too often. You deserve to die for singing psalms. Have you given up praying since I forbade it?”
There was that in the voice of Ranavalona which alarmed the girl, and caused her to tremble as she replied, with some hesitation, that she still prayed.
Instead of giving way to another burst of passion the Queen adopted a bantering tone, and said—
“Come, Rafaravavy, tell me what you pray for.”
“I pray for the pardon of my sins.”
“Is that all? Surely you pray for something more than that. Something nice that you want very much.”
“Yes,” continued the girl, becoming somewhat pale, yet praying silently for courage even while she spoke. “Yes, I pray for the pardon of—of your sins, and—”