"
"Pray, do not decide too hastily, Highness," the Abbot replied.
"You have yet a son."
"What!" yelled Prince Alexis, with flashing eyes, every trace of
humility and renunciation vanishing like smoke,--"what! Borka?
The infamous wretch who has ruined me, killed his mother, and
brought disgrace upon our name? Do you know that he has married a
wench of no family and without a farthing,--who would be honored,
if I should allow her to feed my hogs? Live for HIM? live for
HIM? Ah-R-R-R!"
This outbreak terminated in a sound between a snarl and a bellow.
The priests turned pale, but the Abbot devoutly remarked--
"Encompassed by sorrows, Prince, you should humbly submit to the
will of the Lord."
"Submit to Borka?" the Prince scornfully laughed. "I know what
I'll do. There's time enough yet for a wife and another child,--
ay,--a dozen children! I can have my pick in the province; and if
I couldn't I'd sooner take Masha, the goose-girl, than leave Borka
the hope of stepping into my shoes. Beggars they shall be,--
beggars!"
What further he might have said was interrupted by the priests
rising to chant the Blajennon uspennie (blessed be the dead),--
after which, the trisna, a drink composed of mead, wine, and rum,
was emptied to the health of the departed soul.
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