RAINA. What will he care for my poor little worship after the
acclamations of a whole army of heroes? But no matter: I am so
happy--so proud! (She rises and walks about excitedly.) It
proves that all our ideas were real after all.

CATHERINE (indignantly). Our ideas real! What do you mean?

RAINA. Our ideas of what Sergius would do--our patriotism--our
heroic ideals. Oh, what faithless little creatures girls are!--I
sometimes used to doubt whether they were anything but dreams.
When I buckled on Sergius's sword he looked so noble: it was
treason to think of disillusion or humiliation or failure. And
yet--and yet--(Quickly.) Promise me you'll never tell him.

CATHERINE. Don't ask me for promises until I know what I am
promising.

RAINA. Well, it came into my head just as he was holding me in
his arms and looking into my eyes, that perhaps we only had our
heroic ideas because we are so fond of reading Byron and
Pushkin, and because we were so delighted with the opera that
season at Bucharest. Real life is so seldom like that--indeed
never, as far as I knew it then. (Remorsefully.) Only think,
mother, I doubted him: I wondered whether all his heroic
qualities and his soldiership might not prove mere imagination
when he went into a real battle. I had an uneasy fear that he
might cut a poor figure there beside all those clever Russian
officers.

CATHERINE. A poor figure! Shame on you! The Servians have