“What?” asked Kovalski, with a sleepy voice.
“Against his blind old grandmother!” repeated Zagloba. “Who in that case would be willing to marry and beget children, or wait for grandchildren? Answer me that, Roh.”
“I am Kovalski, and this is Pani Kovalski,” said the still sleepier officer.
“If it is your wish, let it be so,” answered Zagloba. “Better indeed that you have no children, there will be fewer fools to storm around in the world. Is it not true, Roh?”
Zagloba held down his ear, but heard nothing—no answer now.
“Roh! Roh!” called he, in a low voice.
Kovalski was sleeping like a dead man.
“Are you sleeping?” muttered Zagloba. “Wait a bit—I will take this iron pot off your head, for it is of no use to you. This cloak is too tight at the throat; it might cause apoplexy. What sort of relative were I, did I not save you?”
Here Zagloba’s hands began to move lightly about the head and neck of Kovalski. In the wagon all were in a deep sleep; the soldiers too nodded in the saddles; some in front were singing in a low voice, while looking out the road carefully—for the night, though not rainy, was exceedingly dark.
After a time, however, the soldier leading Kovalski’s horse behind the wagon saw in the darkness the cloak and bright helmet of his officer. Kovalski, without stopping the wagon, slipped out and nodded to give him the horse. In a moment he mounted.
“Pan Commandant, where shall we stop to feed?” asked the sergeant, approaching him.
Pan Roh gave no word in reply, but moving forward passed slowly those riding in front and vanished in the darkness. Soon there came to the ears of the dragoons the quick tramp of a horse.
“The commandant has gone at a gallop!” said they to one another. “Surely he wants to look around to see if there is some public house near by. It is time to feed the horses—time.”
A half-hour passed, an hour, two hours, and Pan Kovalski seemed to be ahead all the time, for somehow he was not visible. The horses grew very tired, especially those drawing the wagon, and began to drag on slowly. The stars were leaving the sky.
“Gallop to the commandant,” said the sergeant; “tell him the horses are barely able to drag along, and the wagon horses are tired.”
One of the soldiers moved ahead, but after an hour returned alone.
“There is neither trace nor ashes of the commandant,” said the soldier; “he must have ridden five miles ahead.”
The soldiers began to grumble.
“It is well for him he slept through the day, and just now on the wagon; but do thou, soldier, pound through the night with the last breath of thy horse and thyself!”
“There is an inn eighty rods distant,” said the soldier who had ridden ahead. “I thought to find him there, but no! I listened, trying to hear the horse—Nothing to be heard. The devil knows where he is!”
“We will stop at the inn anyhow,” said the sergeant. “We must let the horses rest.”
In fact they halted before the inn. The soldiers dismounted. Some went to knock at the door; others untied bundles of hay, hanging at the saddles, to feed the horses even from their hands.
The prisoners woke when the movement of the wagon ceased.
“But where are we going?” asked old Stankyevich.
“I cannot tell in the night,” answered Volodyovski, “especially as we are not going to Upita.”
“But does not the load from Kyedani to Birji lie through Upita?” asked Pan Yan.
“It does. But in Upita is my squadron, which clearly the prince fears may resist, therefore he ordered Kovalski to take another road. Just outside Kyedani we turned to Dalnovo and Kroki; from the second place we shall go surely through Beysagoli and Shavli. It is a little out of the way, but Upita and Ponyevyej will remain at the right. On this road there are no squadrons, for all that were there were brought to Kyedani, so as to have them at hand.”
“But Pan Zagloba,” said Stankyevich, “instead of thinking of stratagems, as he promised, is sleeping sweetly, and snoring.”
“Let him sleep. It is clear that he was wearied from talk with that stupid commandant, relationship with whom he confessed. It is evident that he wanted to capture him, but with no result. Whoso would not leave Radzivill for his country, will surely not leave him for a distant relative.”
“Are they really relatives?” asked Oskyerko.
“They? They are as much relatives as you and I,” answered Volodyovski. “When Zagloba spoke of their common escutcheon, I knew it was not true, for I know well that his is called wczele (in the forehead).”
“And where is Pan Kovalski?”
“He must be with the soldiers or in the inn.”
“I should like to ask him to let me sit on some soldier’s horse,” said Mirski, “for my bones are benumbed.”
“He will not grant that,” said Stankyevich; “for the night is dark, you could easily put spurs to the horse, and be off. Who could overtake?”
“I will give him my word of honor not to attempt escape; besides, dawn will begin directly.”
“Soldier, where is the commandant?” asked Volodyovski of a dragoon standing near.
“Who knows?”
“How, who knows? When I ask thee to call him, call him.”
“We know not ourselves, Colonel, where he is,” said the dragoon. “Since he crawled out of the wagon and rode ahead, he has not come back.”
“Tell him when he comes that we would speak with him.”
“As the Colonel wishes,” answered the soldier.
The prisoners were silent. From time to time only loud yawning was heard on the wagon; the horses were chewing hay at one side. The soldiers around the wagon,
