“That is a splendid idea,” exclaimed Zagloba; “I must go anyhow, for I have fed them with ingratitude. Indeed, I have forgotten that they are in the world, until I am ashamed.”
“What do you say to this?” inquired Pan Michael, looking carefully into Krysia’s eyes.
But she answered most unexpectedly, with her usual calmness—
“I should be glad, but I cannot; for I will remain with my husband in Kamenyets, and will not leave him for any cause.”
“In God’s name, what do I hear?” cried Pan Michael. “You will remain in the fortress, which will be invested surely, and that by an enemy knowing no moderation? I should not talk if the war were with some civilized enemy, but this is an affair with barbarians. But do you know what a captured city means—what Turkish or Tartar captivity is? I do not believe my ears!”
“Still, it cannot be otherwise,” replied Krysia.
“Ketling,” cried the little knight, in despair, “is this the way you let yourself be mastered? O man, have God in your heart!”
“We deliberated long,” answered Ketling, “and this was the end of it.”
“And our son is in Kamenyets, under the care of a lady, a relative of mine. Is it certain that Kamenyets must be captured?” Here Krysia raised her calm eyes: “God is mightier than the Turk—He will not betray our confidence; and because I have sworn to my husband not to leave him till death, my place is with him.”
The little knight was terribly confused, for from Krysia he had expected something different altogether.
Basia, who from the very beginning of the conversation saw whither Michael was tending, laughed cunningly. She fixed her quick eyes on him, and said—
“Michael, do you hear?”
“Basia, be quiet!” exclaimed the little knight, in the greatest embarrassment. Then he began to cast despairing glances at Zagloba, as if expecting salvation from him; but that traitor rose suddenly, and said—
“We must think of refreshment, for it is not by word alone that man liveth.” And he went out of the chamber.
Pan Michael followed quickly, and stopped him.
“Well, and what now?” asked Zagloba.
“Well, and what?”
“But may the bullets strike that Ketling woman! For God’s sake, how is this Commonwealth not to perish when women are managing it?”
“Cannot you think out something?”
“Since you fear your wife, what can I think out for you? Get the blacksmith to shoe you—that’s what!”
XLV
The Ketlings stayed about three weeks. At the expiration of that time Basia tried to leave her bed; but it appeared that she could not stand on her feet yet. Health had returned to her sooner than strength; and the doctor commanded her to lie till all her vigor came back to her. Meanwhile spring came. First a strong and warm wind, rising from the side of the Wilderness and the Black Sea, rent and swept away that veil of clouds as if it were a robe which had rotted from age, and then began to gather and scatter those clouds through the sky, as a shepherd dog gathers and scatters flocks of sheep. The clouds, fleeing before it, covered the earth frequently with abundant rain, which fell in drops as large as berries. The melting remnant of snow and ice formed lakes on the flat steppe; from the cliffs ribbons of water were falling; along the beds of ravines streams rose—and all those waters were flying with a noise and an outbreak and uproar to the Dniester, just as children fly with delight to their mother.
Through the rifts between the clouds the sun shone every few moments—bright, refreshed, and as it were wet from bathing in that endless abyss.
Then bright-green blades of grass began to rise through the softened ground; the slender twigs of trees put forth buds abundantly, and the sun gave heat with growing power. In the sky flocks of birds appeared, hence rows of cranes, wild geese, and storks; then the wind began to bring crowds of swallows; the frogs croaked in a great chorus in the warmed water; the small birds were singing madly; and through pine-woods and forests and steppes and ravines went one great outcry, as if all Nature were shouting with delight and enthusiasm—
“Spring! U-há! Spring!”
But for those hapless regions spring brought mourning, not rejoicing; death, not life. In a few days after the departure of the Ketlings the little knight received the following intelligence from Pan Myslishevski—
“On the plain of Kuchunkaury the conflux of troops increases daily. The Sultan has sent considerable sums to the Crimea. The Khan is going with fifty thousand of the horde to assist Doroshenko. As soon as the floods dry, the multitude will advance by the Black Trail and the trail of Kuchman. God pity the Commonwealth!”
Volodyovski sent Pyentka, his attendant, to the hetman at once with these tidings. But he himself did not hasten from Hreptyoff. First, as a soldier, he could not leave that stanitsa without command of the hetman; second, he had spent too many years at “tricks” with the Tartars not to know that chambuls would not move so early. The waters had not fallen yet; grass had not grown sufficiently; and the Cossacks were still in winter quarters. The little knight expected the Turks in summer at the earliest; for though they were assembling already at Adrianople, such a gigantic tabor, such throngs of troops, of camp servants, such burdens, so many horses, camels, and buffaloes, advanced very slowly. The Tartar cavalry might be looked for earlier—at the end of April or the beginning of May. It is true that before the main body, which counted tens of thousands of warriors, there fell always on the country detached chambuls and more or less numerous bands, as single drops of rain come before the great downpour; but the little knight did not fear these. Even picked Tartar horsemen could not withstand the
