Basia opens her mouth. The question, “What is that?” is dying on her lips. For a moment she places her trembling fingers to her face, as if not wishing to lend belief, and from her mouth a sudden cry is wrested—
“O Jesus, O Jesus! Those are the well-sweeps; that is Hreptyoff! O Jesus!”
Then that being who was dying a little before springs up, and panting, trembling, with eyes full of tears, and with swelling bosom runs through the forest, falls, rises again, repeating—
“They are watering the horses! That is Hreptyoff! Those are our well-sweeps! Even to the gate, even to the gate! O Jesus! Hreptyoff—Hreptyoff!”
But here the forest grows thin, the snowfields open, and with them the slope, from which a number of glittering eyes are looking on the running Basia.
But those were not wolves’ eyes—ah, those were Hreptyoff windows looking with sweet, bright, and saving light! That is the “fortalice” there on the eminence, just that eastern side turned to the forest!
There was still a distance to go, but Basia did not know when she passed it. The soldiers standing at the gate on the village side did not know her in the darkness; but they admitted her, thinking her a boy sent on some message, and returning to the commandant. She rushed in with her last breath, ran across the square near the wells where the dragoons, returning just before from a reconnoissance, had watered their horses for the night, and stood at the door of the main building. The little knight and Zagloba were sitting just then astride a bench before the fire, and drinking krupnik.27 They were talking of Basia, thinking that she was down there somewhere, managing in Rashkoff. Both were sad, for it was terribly dreary without her, and every day they were discussing about her return.
“God ward off sudden thaws and rains. Should they come. He alone knows when she would return,” said Zagloba, gloomily.
“The winter will hold out yet,” said the little knight; “and in eight or ten days I shall be looking toward Mohiloff for her every hour.”
“I wish she had not gone. There is nothing for me here without her in Hreptyoff.”
“But why did you advise the journey?”
“Don’t invent, Michael! That took place with your head.”
“If only she comes back in health.”
Here the little knight sighed, and added—
“In health, and as soon as possible.”
With that the door squeaked, and a small, pitiful, torn creature, covered with snow, began to pipe plaintively at the threshold:—
“Michael, Michael!”
The little knight sprang up, but he was so astonished at the first moment that he stopped where he stood, as if turned to stone; he opened his arms, began to blink, and stood still.
“Michael!—Azya betrayed—he wanted to carry me away; but I fled, and—save—rescue!”
When she had said this, she tottered and fell as if dead, on the floor; Pan Michael sprang forward, raised her in his arms as if she had been a feather, and cried shrilly—
“Merciful Christ!”
But her poor head hung without life on his shoulder. Thinking that he held only a corpse in his arms, he began to cry with a ghastly voice—
“Basia is dead!—dead! Rescue!”
XLII
News of Basia’s arrival flew like a thunderbolt through Hreptyoff; but no one except the little knight, Pan Zagloba, and the serving-women saw her that evening, or the following evenings. After that swoon on the threshold she recovered presence of mind sufficiently to tell in a few words at least what had happened, and how it had happened; but suddenly a new fit of fainting set in, and an hour later, though they used all means to revive her, though they warmed her, gave her wine, tried to give her food, she did not know even her husband, and there was no doubt that for her a long and grievous illness was beginning.
Meanwhile excitement rose in all Hreptyoff. The soldiers, learning that “the lady” had come home half alive, rushed out to the square like a swarm of bees; all the officers assembled, and whispering in low voices were waiting impatiently for news from the bedroom where Basia was lying. For a long time, however, it was impossible to learn anything. It is true that at times waiting-women hurried past, one to the kitchen for hot water, another to the dispensary for plasters, ointments, and herbs; but they let no one detain them. Uncertainty was weighing like lead on all hearts. Increasing crowds, even from the village, collected on the square; inquiries passed from mouth to mouth; men described Azya’s treason, and said that “the lady” had saved herself by flight, had fled a whole week without food or sleep. At these tidings the breasts of all swelled with rage. At last a wonderful and terrible frenzy seized the assembly of soldiers; but they repressed it through fear of injuring the sick woman by an outburst.
At last, after long waiting, Pan Zagloba went out to the officers, his eyes red, and the remnant of the hair on his head standing up; they sprang to him in a crowd, and covered him at once with anxious questions in low tones.
“Is she alive; is she alive?”
“She is alive,” said the old man; “but God knows whether she will live an hour.”
Here the voice stuck in his throat; his lower lip quivered. Seizing his head with both hands, he dropped heavily on the bench, and suppressed sobbing heaved his breast.
At sight of this, Pan Mushalski caught in his embrace Pan Nyenashinyets, though he cared not much for him ordinarily, and began to moan quietly; Pan Nyenashinyets seconded him at once. Pan Motovidlo stared as if he were trying to swallow something, but could not; Pan Snitko fell to unbuttoning his coat with quivering fingers; Pan Hromyka raised his hands, and walked through the room. The soldiers, seeing through the windows these
