Prince Louis turned towards his sister, moving his hands uncertainly and even deprecatingly.
Ivan moved quickly to his side and whispered something which instantly rekindled the light of anger in the weakling's eyes.
"You are no sister of mine," he said; "you have disgraced your family and yourself. Whether it be true or no that you are married to this man matters little!"
"It is true; I do not lie!" said Margaret recovering herself.
"So much the worse, then, and he shall suffer for it. At least I can hide, if I cannot prevent, your shame!"
"I will never give him up; nothing on earth shall part our love!"
Prince Ivan smiled delicately, turning to where she stood at the end of the hall.
"Sweet Princess," he said, "divorce is, I understand, contrary to your holy Roman faith. But in my land we have discovered a readier way than any papal bull. Be good enough to observe this"—he held a dagger in his hand. "It is a little blade of steel, but a span long, and narrow as one of your dainty fingers, yet it will divorce the best married pair in the world."
"But neither dagger nor the hate of enemies can sever love," Margaret answered proudly. "You may slay my husband, but he is mine still. You cannot twain our souls."
The Prince shrugged his shoulder and opened his palms deprecatingly.