“Ah, but we will cut it in two, my mother. Then it will be quite small, and we shall be alike.”
“But what waste! It is good muslin, real English. And when your father sees two brides——”
“He will not have time to think about it. And you will sacrifice your veil to save your daughter, mother mine? Ah, I knew it!” She kissed the Princess’s hand. “Danaë, can you faint?”
“I don’t know. Yes, I fainted once, not long ago.”
“Well, you must be able to do it properly. You had better practise. When is the betrothal to be, my mother?”
“Your father said it was no use wasting more time. He has sent word to Kyrios Smaragdopoulos and his son, and Danaë’s godfather, to be here in three days.”
“I must let Narkissos know at once,” mused Angeliké, under her breath. “He must be sullen, but not refuse to accept the change. And you, my mother, you will tell the Despot that Danaë is obstinate and swears she will not marry Narkissos, but girls are often like that, and very likely she will be all right on the day. And we will both offer gifts to the Fates, that all may be well. Let us go and make honey cakes at once.”
“At Klaustra, they said that there were no such things as the Fates,” said Danaë hesitatingly. Her mother sat up.
“Never let me hear you say such a thing again, Danaë,” she said, with unusual decision. “Wretched girl, are you not afraid what will happen to you? No Fates, indeed? One would think you had been born in a house where the proper ceremonies were not observed. Did not your father himself tie up the dogs on the third night after you were born, that the august ladies might not be disturbed while they partook of the banquet prepared for them, and decided upon your future? Those unbelievers at Klaustra, whoever they may be, will say there is no such thing as witches next.”
As this was exactly what Zoe had said, Danaë held her peace. Angeliké laughed.