The boyar reddened angrily. “Be careful, boy! Remember who you are and where you are!”
“Remember you’re a prisoner, that your life depends upon the good will of the Mongols.”
“My life isn’t worth anything!” replied Maxim quietly. “I don’t care whether I live or die! Whoever has known but a moment of imprisonment has tasted worse than death!”
At this juncture the flap of the tent was lifted up and with a quick movement Peace-Renown entered. She cast a swift glance around the tent and without even so much as a nod towards her father, she flew to Maxim’s side. “Here you are, here you are!” she cried. “Something seemed to draw me here. My dearest, Maxim, how are you? What has happened to you?”
Maxim sat as if paralyzed, without taking his eyes off Peace-Renown. She held his hand in hers. Her words rang like an Easter bell announcing that Christ had risen, or like a reviving dew falling upon a wilted flower. And she, the sweet darling, knelt down beside him bathing his weighty chains in her tears, washing away with them the dried blood from his wrists.
What a joy, what warmth entered Maxim’s heart at her nearness and the touch of her soft hands! How warmly the blood throbbed in his chest! How fiercely the desire to live re-awakened itself in him! And here the chains were pressing, squeezing him unmercifully, reminding him that he was a prisoner, that over his head hung a bloody Mongolian knife. That thought in this joyous moment twined itself around his heart like a snake and made the tears drop from his eyes and roll down his cheeks.
“Peace-Renown,” he said, turning his face away. “Why did you come here to add to my grief? I was ready for death and now you have re-awakened my desire to live!”
“My beloved!” replied Peace-Renown. “Don’t lose cour-
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