Rucsanda took a silver cup full of water, which was handed to her by the servant, and then, amid the entreaties and arguments of the boyars, poured the poison into it. The boyars pushed her into the sick man’s room.
“What is he doing?” asked Spancioc of Stroici, who pushed open the door again and looked in.
“He asks for his son—he says he wishes him to come to him—he asks for a drink—the Princess trembles—she gives him the cup—he will not take it!”
Spancioc starts and draws his dagger from his belt.
“But yes, he takes it, he drinks. May it do your Highness good!”
Rucsanda emerged shaking and livid, and supporting herself against the wall.
“You must render account before God,” she said, sighing, “for you have caused me to commit this sin.”
The Metropolitan arrived.
“Let us go,” he said to the Princess.
“But who will tend to this wretched man?”