That moment, as if in answer to the call, from outside, from those snowy distances covered with night, came the sound of a bell.
The lady trembled, but regaining her presence of mind, remembered that almost every evening someone came to Vodokty to get medicine for the young colonel.
Panna Kulvyets confirmed that idea by saying, “Someone from the Gashtovts for herbs.”
The irregular sound of the bell shaken by the shaft rang more distinctly each moment; at last it stopped on a sudden. Evidently the sleigh had halted before the door.
“See who has come,” said Panna Kulvyets to the man of Jmud who was turning the mill.
The man went out of the servants’ hall, but soon returned, and taking again the handle of the mill, said phlegmatically, “Panas Kmitas.”7
“The word is made flesh!” cried Panna Kulvyets.
The spinners sprang to their feet; the flax and the distaffs fell to the floor.
Panna Aleksandra rose also. Her heart beat like a hammer; a flush came forth on her face, and then pallor; but she turned from the chimney, lest her emotion might be seen.
Then in the door appeared a certain lofty figure in a fur mantle and fur-bound cap. A young man advanced to the middle of the room, and seeing that he was in the servants’ hall, inquired in a resonant voice, without removing his cap, “Hei! but where is your mistress?”
“I am the mistress,” said Panna Billevich, in tones sufficiently clear.
Hearing this, the newly arrived removed his cap, cast it on the floor, and inclining said, “I am Andrei Kmita.”
The eyes of Panna Aleksandra rested with lightning-like swiftness on the face of Kmita, and then dropped again to the floor; still during that time the lady was able to see the tuft shaven high, yellow as wheat, an embrowned complexion, blue eyes, looking quickly to the front, dark mustache, a face youthful, eagle-like, but joyous and gallant.
He rested his left hand on his hip, raised his right to his mustache, and said: “I have not been in Lyubich yet, for I hastened here like a bird to bow down at the feet of the lady, the chief hunter’s daughter. The wind—God grant it was a happy one!—brought me straight from the camp.”
“Did you know of the death of my grandfather?” asked the lady.
“I did not; but I bewailed with hot tears my benefactor when I learned of his death from those rustics who came from this region to me. He was a sincere friend, almost a brother, of my late father. Of course it is well known to you that four years ago he came to us at Orsha. Then he promised me your ladyship, and showed a portrait about which I sighed in the nighttime. I wished to come sooner, but war is not a mother: she makes matches for men with death only.”
This bold speech confused the lady somewhat. Wishing to change the subject, she said, “Then you have not seen Lyubich yet?”
“There will be time for that. My first service is here; and here the dearest inheritance, which I wish to receive first. But you turned from the hearth, so that to this moment I have not been able to look you in the eye—that’s the way! Turn, and I will stand next the hearth; that’s the way!”
Thus speaking, the daring soldier seized by the hand Olenka,8 who did not expect such an act, and brought her face toward the fire, turning her like a top. She was still more confused, and covering her eyes with her long lashes, stood abashed by the light and her own beauty. Kmita released her at last, and struck himself on the doublet.
“As God is dear to me, a beauty! I’ll have a hundred Masses said for my benefactor because he left you to me. When the betrothal?”
“Not yet awhile; I am not yours yet,” said Olenka.
“But you will be, even if I have to burn this house! As God lives, I thought the portrait flattered. I see that the painter aimed high, but missed. A thousand lashes to such an artist, and stoves to paint, not beauties, with which eyes are feasted! Oh, ’tis a delight to be the heir to such an inheritance, may the bullets strike me!”
“My late grandfather told me that you were very hotheaded.”
“All are that way with us in Smolensk; not like your Jmud people. One, two! and it must be as we want; if not, then death.”
Olenka laughed, and said with a voice now more confident, raising her eyes to the cavalier, “Then it must be that Tartars dwell among you?”
“All one! but you are mine by the will of parents and by your heart.”
“By my heart? That I know not yet.”
“Should you not be, I would thrust myself with a knife!”
“You say that laughing. But we are still in the servants’ hall; I beg you to the reception-room. After a long road doubtless supper will be acceptable. I beg you to follow me.”
Here Olenka turned to Panna Kulvyets. “Auntie, dear, come with us.”
The young banneret glanced quickly. “Aunt?” he inquired—“whose aunt?”
“Mine—Panna Kulvyets.”
“Then she is mine!” answered he, going to kiss her hand. “I have in my company an officer named Kulvyets-Hippocentaurus. Is he not a relative?”
“He is of the same family,” replied the old maid, with a courtesy.
“A good fellow, but a whirlwind like myself,” added Kmita.
Meanwhile a boy appeared with a light. They went to the antechamber, where Pan Andrei removed his shuba; then they passed to the reception-room.
Immediately after their departure the spinners gathered in a close circle, and one interrupted another, talking and making remarks. The stately young man pleased them greatly; therefore they did not spare words on him, vying with one another in praises.
“Light shines from him,” said one; “when he came I thought he was a king’s son.”
“And he has lynx eyes, so that he cuts with them,” said another; “do not cross such a man.”
“That
