He had finished and re-seated himself in his chair. That had relieved him. The count gently stroked his white nose and retorted,
"The right to fall in love with my daughter I cannot deny you, nor the right to ask me for the hand of my daughter, but what you just said sounded rather as if you were asking me in Billy's name for your own hand."
"I wanted to be open and loyal toward you," replied Boris.
"Oh, did you?" remarked the count. "You call it loyal, as a guest in my house, to 'come to an agreement,' as you call it, behind my back, with my seventeen-year-old daughter."
"It was perhaps not correct," said Boris wearily and with a superior air, "but good gracious, when anything so powerful takes possession here in the heart and here in the head, we simply give it utterance."
Sharply and angrily the count rejoined, "A decent man keeps to himself nine-tenths of what passes through his head and heart."
"You wish to insult me, uncle," and Boris smiled his handsome melancholy smile, "very well, very well. Perhaps we Poles cannot keep our heads and hearts as well in check as you Germans; but that does not prevent us from being decent."
"It costs little, my boy," scoffed the count, "to lay our faults at our nation's door; it cannot defend itself. Moreover ..." He stopped, for his cigar had gone out; he lit it with much ceremony, and when he began to speak again the irritation was gone from his voice, and it had once more its contemplatively nasal tone. "The discussion here is probably fruitless, we are neither of us sufficiently objective in this matter. I therefore regret having to decline your proposal."
Boris rose and bowed formally. "Then I presume I can go," he said.
"Yes," replied the count, "the subject is exhausted for now. It should be added that I must beg you to terminate your visit here today."