This name brought back to his mind all that had taken place. His blood began to boil and half raising himself he cried:
“What are these? Ah, you are making fun of me! Avaunt, foul creatures! Go, or I will murder you all!”
He sought a weapon with his hand, but finding nothing but the cowl he flung it with his hand at the head of one of the monks.
At the sound of his shouting, the Princess, with her son, the Metropolitan, the boyars and servants, all entered the room.
Meanwhile the other two boyars arrived and stood by the door listening.
“Ah, you wanted to turn me into a monk,” cried Lapushneanu in a raucous and terrible voice. “You thought to get rid of me? But you can dismiss that idea! God or the devil will make me well again, and——”
“Unhappy man, do not blaspheme,” said the Metropolitan, cutting him short. “Do not forget you are in the hour of death! Reflect, sinful man, that you are a monk, you are no longer Ruler! Reflect that such ravings and yells are frightening this innocent woman, and this child in whom rests the hope of Moldavia.”
“Infernal hypocrite!” added the sick man, endeavouring to rise from his bed. “Hold your tongue; it was I who made you Metropolitan, and I unfrock you. You tried to make me a priest but I will put that right. There are many I will make into priests. But as for that bitch, I will cut her into four pieces with her pup so that they may never again listen to the advice of hypocrites or to my enemies. He lies who says I am a monk. I am no monk—I am Ruler. I am Alexandru Voda! Help! Help! Where are my soldiers? Fetch them! Fetch them all! I will command them. Kill all these people. Let none escape. Ah! I am choking! Water! Water! Water!” And he fell back exhausted, gasping with excitement and fury.
The Princess and the Metropolitan retired. At the door they came face to face with Stroici and Spancioc.
“Madam,” said Spancioc, seizing Rucsanda’s hand, “that man must die at all costs. See this powder, pour it into his drink.”