"'Minka,' he whispered, 'is she hurt?'
"'My darling, no,' I answered. 'She screams too lustily to be hurt.'
"'And the wolf?' He raised his head from my shoulder and looked wildly around.
"'He is dead. You have slain him, my hero,' I assured him.
"Then he shut his eyes with a great sigh.
"'Let me sleep, father,' he murmured. 'I am so tired.'"
The peasant chuckled. "He was played out, my little wolf-slayer. The Noble Prince should have seen how he lay like a sack, and slept and slept!"
Meanwhile Ivanka had grown shy again and gazed wistfully towards the door. But the Prince still held him between his knees. Even when he rose to go, the High Noble detained the boy with a hand on his head.
"Give him to me," he said to the peasant. "Let me take him with me when I go to Petersburg. I will make a great man of him. He shall be a soldier and fight for the Czar."
There was dead silence. The peasant's face had gone crimson. His eyes flew to his son and held him in jealous regard.