“I can write French,” said Nadia.
“Really? Ah, I thought you were better off than you seemed to be. I shouldn’t wonder if you were a lady’s-maid, now, in some noble family?”
“I belong to the household of a lady of high rank,” said Nadia. Her friend looked at her doubtfully.
“I hope your sweetheart is good enough for you. I should say you might do better than a private soldier—even in the Carlinos. Don’t you let yourself be led away by a handsome face and a fine uniform, my girl. An honest farmer with plenty of sheep and pigs, and a little money hidden behind a brick in the wall, would be likely to make you a far better husband, and you wouldn’t have all the trouble of moving about after the regiment, which is bad enough when you are a sergeant’s wife, but is terrible when you have only a private’s pay to depend upon. But there! young folks will choose as they like, and it’s no use speaking to them.”
“He is good enough to marry a princess,” said Nadia, with tears in her eyes. “Please tell me about the petition. What shall I say in it?”
“Well, you oughtn’t to tell everything, or he won’t need to see you, and you want to be able to throw yourself at his feet, and melt his heart by your pleading. We must make up something slow and sad—like the stories.” And to Nadia’s astonishment, the practical business-like woman threw back her head, half-closed her eyes, and recited her improvised plaint in a kind of chant.
“Most Illustrious Majesty,—Deign to permit a mourner to approach your royal throne.
“She comes not to cast a shadow upon your marriage joy, but to plead with you for the one she loves more than life.
“The beloved of her soul is doomed to death—death undeserved, death most cruel—and you alone can avert this fearful sorrow.
“Great is the power of the law, but greater is the word of the King.