In the dark corridor his footsteps and his spurs echoed as in a church. A noise was heard in one of the rooms, and a bright light shone into the passage. The Sultana appeared in the doorway, dressed in white with her hair unplaited, with frowning brows and the scimitar in her right hand.
“Who are you? What do you want?” she cried.
“I have come to fetch you,” said Racoare shortly, “and take you to Boyar Nicola.”
“Ah, you are not burglars?” said the lady, and raised her scimitar. “See here, you will meet the same fate as your Nicola!”
Racoare took a step forward, calmly seized the scimitar, squeezed the lady’s fist, and the steel blade flew into a corner. The lady sprang quickly back, calling:
“Gavril! Niculai! Toader! Help!”
Voices were heard, and the servants crowded into the passage, and stood by the door. Racoare approached the lady, and tried to seize her. She avoided him, and caught up a knife from the table.
“What are you doing, you boobies? Help! Seize him, bind him!”
“Don’t talk nonsense—I see you are not frightened; I cannot do other than I am doing!” said Racoare.
Then the servants murmured again: