The throng of nobles increased daily; and it was evident that when, after the Diet, the election itself would begin, they would surpass even the greatest force of the magnates. But these throngs were incompetent to bring the ship of the Commonwealth into calm waters successfully, for their heads were sunk in darkness and ignorance, and their hearts were for the greater part corrupted. The election therefore gave promise of being prodigious, and no one foresaw that it would end only shabbily, for except Zagloba, even those who worked for the “Pole” could not foresee to what a degree the stupidity of the nobles and the intrigues of the magnates would aid them; not many had hope to carry through such a candidate as Prince Michael. But Zagloba swam in that sea like a fish in water. From the beginning of the Diet he dwelt in the city continually, and was at Ketling’s house only when he yearned for his haiduk; but as Basia had lost much joyfulness by reason of Krysia’s resolve, Zagloba took her sometimes to the city to let her amuse herself and rejoice her eyes with the sight of the shops.
They went out usually in the morning; and Zagloba brought her back not infrequently late in the evening. On the road and in the city itself the heart of the maiden was rejoiced at sight of the merchandise, the strange people, the many-colored crowds, the splendid troops. Then her eyes would gleam like two coals, her head turn as if on a pivot; she could not gaze sufficiently, nor look around enough, and overwhelmed the old man with questions by the thousand. He answered gladly, for in this way he showed his experience and learning. More than once a gallant company of military surrounded the equipage in which they were riding; the knighthood admired Basia’s beauty greatly, her quick wit and resolution, and Zagloba always told them the story of the Tartar, slain with duck-shot, so as to sink them completely in amazement and delight.
A certain time Zagloba and Basia were coming home very late; for the review of Pan Felix Pototski’s troops had detained them all day. The night was clear and warm; white mists were hanging over the fields. Zagloba, though always watchful, since in such a concourse of serving-men and soldiers it was necessary to pay careful attention not to strike upon outlaws, had fallen soundly asleep; the driver was dozing also; Basia alone was not sleeping, for through her head were moving thousands of thoughts and pictures. Suddenly the tramp of a number of horses came to her ears. Pulling Zagloba by the sleeve, she said—
“Horsemen of some kind are pushing on after us.”
“What? How? Who?” asked the drowsy Zagloba.
“Horsemen of some kind are coming.”
“Oh! they will come up directly. The tramp of horses is to be heard; perhaps someone is going in the same direction—”
“They are robbers, I am sure!”
Basia was sure, for the reason that in her soul she was eager for adventures—robbers and opportunities for her daring—so that when Zagloba, puffing and muttering, began to draw out from the seat pistols, which he took with him always for “an occasion,” she claimed one for herself.
“I shall not miss the first robber who approaches. Auntie shoots wonderfully with a musket, but she cannot see in the night. I could swear that those men are robbers! Oh, if they would only attack us! Give me the pistol quickly!”
“Well,” answered Zagloba, “but you must promise not to fire before I do, and till I say fire. If I give you a weapon, you will be ready to shoot the noble that you see first, without asking, ‘Who goes there?’ and then a trial will follow.”
“I will ask first, ‘Who goes there?’ ”
“But if drinking-men are passing, and hearing a woman’s voice, say something impolite?”
“I will thunder at them out of the pistol! Isn’t that right?”
“Oh, man, to take such a water-burner to the city! I tell you that you are not to fire without command.”
“I will inquire, ‘Who goes there?’ but so roughly that they will not know me.”
“Let it be so, then. Ha! I hear them approaching already. You may be sure that they are solid people, for scoundrels would attack us unawares from the ditch.”
Since ruffians, however, really did infest the roads, and adventures were heard of not infrequently, Zagloba commanded the driver not to go among the trees which stood in darkness at the turn of the road, but to halt in a well-lighted place. Meanwhile the four horsemen had approached a number of yards. Then Basia, assuming a bass voice, which to her seemed worthy of a dragoon, inquired threateningly—
“Who goes there?”
“Why have you stopped on the road?” asked one of the horsemen, who thought evidently that they must have broken some part of the carriage or the harness.
At this voice Basia dropped her pistol and said hurriedly to Zagloba, “Indeed, that is uncle. Oh, for God’s sake!”
“What uncle?”
“Makovetski.”
“Hei there!” cried Zagloba; “and are you not Pan Makovetski with Pan Volodyovski?”
“Pan Zagloba!” cried the little knight.
“Michael!”
Here Zagloba began to put his legs over the edge of the carriage with great haste; but before he could get one of them over, Volodyovski had sprung from his horse and was at the side of the equipage. Recognizing Basia by the light of the moon, he seized her by both hands and cried—
“I greet you with all my heart! And where is Panna Krysia, and sister? Are all in good health?”
“In good
