“Poison,” she cried with a shudder.
“Poison!” pursued Spancioc. “Unless this man dies at once, the lives of your Highness and your son are in danger. The father has lived long enough and done enough. Let the father die that the son may live.”
A servant came out of the room.
“What is it?” asked the Princess.
“The sick man has roused and asks for water and his son. He bade me not to return without him.”
“Oh, they wish to kill him,” groaned the wretched mother, pressing her son passionately to her breast.
“There is not time for hesitation, Madam,” added Spancioc. “Think of the wife of Voda Shtefanitza and choose between father and son.”
“What say you, Father?” said the poor woman, turning towards the Metropolitan, with her eyes full of tears.
“This man is cruel and fierce, my daughter; may the Lord God give you counsel. As for me, I go to prepare for our departure with our new Ruler; for our late Prince, may God pardon him, and also forgive you.”
With these words the holy Teofan departed.