Then he began to tell of his old and unfortunate love for Eva. He could not live without that maiden; he had loved her through whole years of separation, though without hope, and he would never cease to love her. But between him and old Pan Novoveski there was an ancient hatred, and the previous relation of servant and master separated them, as it were, by a broad ravine. The lady alone could reconcile them to each other; and if she could not do that, she could at least shelter the dear girl from her father’s tyranny, from confinement and the lash.
Pan Michael would have preferred, perhaps, that Basia had not interfered in the matter; but as he himself loved to do good to people, he did not wonder at his wife’s heart. Still, he did not answer Azya affirmatively yet; he resisted even additional tears from Eva; but he locked himself up in the chancery and fell to thinking.
At last he came out to supper on a certain evening with an agreeable expression of face, and after supper he asked Azya suddenly, “Azya, when is it time for you to go?”
“In a week, your great mightiness,” answered the Tartar, unquietly. “Halim, it must be, will have concluded negotiations with Krychinski by that time.”
“Give orders to repair the great sleigh, for you must take two ladies to Rashkoff.”
When she heard this, Basia began to clap her hands, and rushed headlong to her husband. After her hurried Eva; after Eva, Azya bowed down to the little knight’s knees with a wild outburst of delight, so that Pan Michael had to free himself.
“Give me peace!” said he; “what is there wonderful? When it’s possible to help people, it is hard not to help them, unless one is altogether heartless; and I am no tyrant. But do you, Basia, return quickly, my love; and do you, Azya, guard her faithfully; in this way you will thank me best. Well, well, give me peace!”
Here his mustaches began to quiver, and then he said more joyously, to give himself courage—
“The worst are those tears of women; when I see tears there is nothing left of me. But you, Azya, must thank not only me and my wife, but this young lady, who has followed me like a shadow, exhibiting her sorrow continually before my eyes. You must pay her for such affection.”
“I will pay her; I will pay her!” said Azya, with a strange voice; and seizing Eva’s hands, he kissed them so violently that it might be thought he wished rather to bite them.
“Michael!” cried Zagloba, suddenly, pointing to Basia, “what shall we do here without her?”
“Indeed it will be grievous,” said the little knight, “God knows it will!” Then he added more quietly: “But the Lord God may bless my good action later. Do you understand?”
Meanwhile Basia pushed in between them her bright head full of curiosity.
“What are you saying?”
“Nothing,” replied Zagloba; “we said that in spring the storks would come surely.”
Basia began to rub her face to her husband’s like a real cat. “Michael dear! I shall not stay long,” said she, in a low voice.
After this conversation new councils were held during several days touching the journey. Pan Michael looked after everything himself, gave orders to arrange the sleigh in his presence, and line it with skins of foxes killed in autumn. Zagloba brought his own lap-robe, so that she might have wherewith to cover her feet on the road. Sleighs were to go with a bed and provisions; and Basia’s pony was to go, so that she might leave her sleigh in dangerous places; for Pan Michael had a particular fear of the entrance to Mohiloff, which was really a breakneck descent. Though there was not the slightest likelihood of an attack, the little knight commanded Azya to take every precaution: to send men always a couple of furlongs in advance, and never pass the night on the road but in places where there were commands; to start at daylight, and not to loiter on the way. To such a degree did the little knight think of everything, that with his own hand he loaded the pistols for the holsters in Basia’s saddle.
The moment of departure came at last. It was still dark when two hundred horse of the Lithuanian Tartars were standing ready on the square. In the chief room of the commandant’s house movement reigned also. In the chimneys pitchy sticks were shooting up bright flames. The little knight, Pan Zagloba, Pan Mushalski, Pan Nyenashinyets, Pan Hromyka, and Pan Motovidlo, and with them officers from the light squadrons, had come to say farewell. Basia and Eva, warm yet and ruddy from sleep, were drinking heated wine for the road. Pan Michael, sitting by his wife, had his arm around her waist; Zagloba poured out to her, repeating at each addition, “Take more, for the weather is frosty.” Basia and Eva were dressed in male costume, for women travelled generally in that guise on the frontiers. Basia had a sabre; a wildcat skin shuba bound with weasel-skin; an ermine cap with earlaps; very wide trousers looking like a skirt; and boots to her knees, soft and lined. To all this were to be added warm cloaks and shubas with hoods to cover the faces. Basia’s face was uncovered yet, and astonished people as usual with its beauty. Some, however, looked appreciatively at Eva, who had a mouth formed as it were for kisses; and others did not know which to prefer, so charming seemed both to the soldiers, who whispered in one another’s ears—
“It is hard for a man to live in such a desert! Happy commandant, happy Azya! Uh!”
The fire crackled joyfully in the chimneys; the crowing of cocks began; day approached gradually, rather frosty and clear; the roofs of the sheds and the quarters of the soldiers, covered with deep snow, took on a bright rose color.
From the square was heard the snorting of horses and
