Madame Mavrogordato’s face was set. At the opposite end of the long table, Monsieur Mavrogordato cast her a furtive glance and helped himself to a dish of lamb. Madame Mavrogordato watched the footman place the dish on the side table.
“You may remove Alexander’s setting, Dmitri. When he comes in, he can eat in the kitchen. And tell him that his father wants to see him.”
“Yes, madame.”
Dmitri withdrew. Mavrogordato picked up his knife and fork.
“So!” Her voice was like a milled edge.
His hands froze in midair.
“So! You can eat!”
“We have to eat, Christina, or we’ll die,” said Mavrogordato unhappily. His knife wavered uncertainly over the lamb.
Madame Mavrogordato stared him down. “Sometimes, Monsieur Mavrogordato, one must choose between disgrace and death.”
“Now, Christina, please…” He put the knife and fork down gently by his plate.
“Disgrace, Monsieur Mavrogordato,” she intoned. “This time I want you to speak to Alexander. If he carries on in this way, he will earn a reputation for himself.”
Mavrogordato nodded.
“A reputation, Monsieur Mavrogordato. And the Ypsilanti girl is almost seventeen.”
Mavrogordato nodded.
“We cannot allow the match to fail. The Ypsilanti may not be so rich, but they have-” Her head quivered gently. She could not quite bring herself to say the word.
Mavrogordato nodded again. He blinked. After a pause he picked up his knife and fork. “A strange fellow came to see me today,” he said casually.
Madame Mavrogordato did not reply.
“He-ah-was called Yashim. I believe he was a eunuch.”
Five minutes later, when Mavrogordato’s lamb had congealed on the plate, he wished he hadn’t changed the subject, after all.