"In all this royal city," he said, "there is no such hero as quiet Dunai. From the land of Lithuania he carried away two white swans of glorious plumage, one of whom he took for himself while he gave away the other with ungrudging hand." The Princess Nastasya looked at him, and a world of wisdom was in her glance. "Your boast is emptiness, Dunai," she said. "I have not dwelt long in this city, but I have learnt much. There are handsomer, braver, more courteous heroes in Kiev town whom I could name. Neither in deeds nor promise are these men lacking, and, apart from them, even I, the wife of a boaster, have some skill with the bow. Let us take a stout bow and set up a sharp dagger on the open steppe a mile away, and before the dagger a silver ring. Then let us shoot through the ring of silver at the sharp dagger in such a skilful way that the shaft may fall into two equal parts against the dagger, into two parts exactly equal both to the eye and to the discerning hand which can tell weight from weight." Thereupon quiet Dunai was very angry, but he said steadily, "It is well, little Nastasya. Let us go to the open steppe, set up a sharp dagger a mile away with a silver ring before it, and shoot our fiery darts as you have said." So they went out to put the matter to the trial. Nastasya shot a flaming arrow, which passed through the ring as through the open air, fell upon the sharp blade and was cut into two parts exactly equal both to the eye and to the discerning hand. Then quiet Dunai shot a flaming arrow, and it sped too far; he shot a second, and it sped not far enough; he shot a third, which came not near the silver ring and was not seen again. Then he shot a fourth into the breast of Nastasya, and she fell upon the open plain where she had loved to wander. And still in the moment of her death she loved quiet Dunai and kept him ever in her golden heart. "Forgive, my lord, my foolish woman's words," she said, "and tend with care the son of mine whom I leave in Kiev town, for such a boy is not to be found in all the world. His little legs are silver to the knee, his arms to the elbow are of purest gold; upon his open forehead glows the fair round sun, upon his golden head glitter countless stars, and at the back of his head the bright moon shineth." So she spoke in her death-pain, and the heart of quiet Dunai burned within his breast for deep grief and scorching remorse and torturing pity. "Where the white swan fell," he said, "there shall fall the falcon bright."