“Ah! my dear, I am afraid you and your monk are wasting your powder,” said Prince Andréy banteringly yet tenderly.
“Ah! mon ami , I only pray, and hope that God will hear me. André …” she said timidly after a moment’s silence, “I have a great favor to ask of you.”
“What is it, dear?”
“No—promise that you will not refuse! It will give you no trouble and is nothing unworthy of you, but it will comfort me. Promise, Andrúsha! …” said she, putting her hand in her reticule but not yet taking out what she was holding inside it, as if what she held were the subject of her request and must not be shown before the request was granted.
She looked timidly at her brother.
“Even if it were a great deal of trouble …” answered Prince Andréy, as if guessing what it was about.
“Think what you please! I know you are just like Father. Think as you please, but do this for my sake! Please do! Father’s father, our grandfather, wore it in all his wars.” (She still did not take out what she was holding in her reticule.) “So you promise?”
“Of course. What is it?”
“André, I bless you with this icon and you must promise me you will never take it off. Do you promise?”
“If it does not weigh a hundredweight and won’t break my neck … To please you …” said Prince Andréy. But immediately, noticing the pained expression his joke had brought to his sister’s face, he repented and added: “I am glad; really, dear, I am very glad.”