“But, you see,” continued Zagloba, looking with a smile on the blushing face of Ketling, “if you are not a barbarian, it is not right for you to have both in view, for only Turks act like that.”
“How can you suppose—”
“I do not suppose; I only say it to myself. Ha! traitor! you have so talked to them of love that pallor is on Krysia’s lips this third day. It is no wonder; you are a beauty. When I was young myself, I used to stand in the frost under the window of a certain black brow; she was like Panna Krysia; and I remember how I used to sing—
‘You are sleeping there after the day;
And I am here thrumming my lute,
Höts! Höts!’
If you wish, I will give you a song, or compose an entirely new one, for I have no lack of genius. Have you observed that Panna Krysia reminds one somewhat of Panna Billevich, except that Panna Billevich had hair like flax and had no down on her lip? But there are men who find superior beauty in that, and think it a charm. She looks with great pleasure on you. I have just written so to Pan Yan. Is it not true that she is like the former Panna Billevich?”
“I have not noticed the likeness, but it may be. In figure and stature she recalls her.”
“Now listen to what I say. I am telling family secrets directly; but as you are a friend, you ought to know them. Be on your guard not to feed Volodyovski with ingratitude, for I and Pani Makovetski have predestined one of those maidens to him.”
Here Zagloba looked quickly and persistently into Ketling’s eyes, and he grew pale and inquired, “Which one?”
“Panna Krysia,” answered Zagloba, slowly. And pushing out his lower lip, he began to blink from under his frowning brow with his one seeing eye. Ketling was silent, and silent so long that at last Zagloba inquired, “What do you say to this?”
And Ketling answered with changed voice, but with emphasis, “You may be sure that I shall not indulge my heart to Michael’s harm.”
“Are you certain?”
“I have suffered much in life; my word of a knight that I will not indulge it.”
Then Zagloba opened his arms to him: “Ketling, indulge your heart; indulge it, poor man, as much as you like, for I only wanted to try you. Not Panna Krysia, but the haiduk, have we predestined to Michael.”
Ketling’s face grew bright with a sincere and deep joy, and seizing Zagloba in his embrace, he held him long, then inquired, “Is it certain already that they are in love?”
“But who would not be in love with my haiduk—who?” asked Zagloba.
“Then has the betrothal taken place?”
“There has been no betrothal, for Michael has barely freed himself from mourning; but there will be—put that on my head. The maiden, though she evades like a weasel, is very much inclined to him, for with her the sabre is the main thing.”
“I have noticed that, as God is dear to me!” interrupted Ketling, radiant.
“Ha! you noticed it? Michael is weeping yet for the other; but if anyone pleases his spirit, it is certainly the haiduk, for she is most like the dead one, though she cuts less with her eyes, for she is younger. Everything is arranging itself well. I am the guarantee that these two weddings will be at election-time.”
Ketling, saying nothing, embraced Zagloba again, and placed his beautiful face against his red cheeks, so that the old man panted and asked, “Has Panna Krysia sewed herself into your skin like that already?”
“I know not—I know not,” answered Ketling; “but I know this, that barely had the heavenly vision of her delighted my eyes when I said at once to myself that she was the one woman whom my suffering heart might love yet; and that same night I drove sleep away with sighs, and yielded myself to pleasant yearnings. Thenceforth she took possession of my being, as a queen does of an obedient and loyal country. Whether this is love or something else, I know not.”
“But you know that it is neither a cap nor three yards of cloth for trousers, nor a saddle-girth, nor a crupper, nor sausage and eggs, nor a decanter of gorailka. If you are certain of this, then ask Krysia about the rest; or if you wish, I will ask her.”
“Do not do that,” said Ketling, smiling. “If I am to drown, let it seem to me, even a couple of days yet, that I am swimming.”
“I see that the Scots are fine men in battle; but in love they are useless. Against women, as against the enemy, impetus is needful. ‘I came, I saw, I conquered!’ that was my maxim.”
“In time, if my most ardent desires are to be accomplished, perhaps I shall ask you for friendly assistance; though I am naturalized, and of noble blood, still my name is unknown here, and I am not sure that Pani Makovetski—”
“Pani Makovetski?” interrupted Zagloba. “Have no fear about her. Pani Makovetski is a regular music-box. As I wind her, so will she play. I will go at her immediately; I must forewarn her, you know, so that she may not look awry at your approaches to the young lady. To such a degree is your Scottish method one, and ours another, I will not make a declaration straightway in your name, of course; I will say only that the maiden has taken your eye, and that it would be well if from that flour there should be bread. As God is dear to me, I will go at once; have no fear, for in every case I am at liberty to say what I like.”
And though Ketling detained him, Zagloba rose and went out. On the way he met Basia, rushing along as usual, and said to her, “Do you know that Krysia has captured Ketling completely?”
“He is
