"Serve us, my child!"
In order to give her time to gain her composure, they took little Ivan amongst them, and fondled him and asked him questions, Dunja, red as a rose, how went from one to the other, handing the jug first to those older in years and pedigree. Each one drank the serdar's health, and each one's eyes strayed towards the beautiful girl as he did so.
When the young Latin boy's turn came. . . (I know you will not credit it). . . all were silent, he alone raised his voice and cried aloud:
"And even though it were poison, I would drink it from your hand!"
All stood mute with amazement. Who was it dared to say such a thing in the presence of her father? The bashful little Latin boy! However could such a daring notion have entered his mind? Heaven alone knew. Certain it was that these words had passed his lips merely by the way. He, however, seemed to have observed nothing; he emptied his glass and was about to hand it back to the girl, but she had escaped. It was in vain that the serdar called her back. She had already vanished in the house.
Not until then did the Latin boy look round about him in bewilderment.
"You seem to look upon our Dunja with favour," was the sullen remark of a relative who was the same age as Dunja.
