A disagreeable silence succeeded.
Pan Andrei grew impatient and gnawed his mustaches; the guests looked at him with a fixed frown, and the sword-bearer stroked his forelock.
“Will you drink a glass of poor nobles’ mead with us?” asked he at last, pointing to a decanter and a glass. “I request you—”
“I will drink with a gentleman!” said Kmita, rather abruptly.
Dovgird and Hudzynski began to puff, taking the answer as an expression of contempt for them; but they would not begin a quarrel at once in a friendly house, and that with a roisterer who had a terrible reputation throughout all Jmud. Still the insult nettled them.
Meanwhile the sword-bearer clapped his hands for a servant, and ordered him to bring a fourth glass; then he filled it, raised his own to his lips, and said, “Into your hands—I am glad to see you in my house.”
“I should be sincerely glad were that true.”
“A guest is a guest,” said the sword-bearer, sententiously.
After awhile, conscious evidently of his duty as a host to keep up the conversation, he asked, “What do you hear at Kyedani? How is the health of the hetman?”
“Not strong,” answered Kmita, “and in these unquiet times it cannot be otherwise. The prince has a world of troubles and annoyances.”
“I believe that!” said Pan Hudzynski.
Kmita looked at him for a while, then turned to the host and continued—
“The prince, being promised assistance by the Swedish King, expected to move against the enemy at Vilna without delay, and take vengeance for the ashes of that place, which have not yet grown cold. And it must be known also to you that now it is necessary to search for Vilna in Vilna, for it was burning seventeen days. They say that nothing is visible among the ruins but the black holes of cellars from which smoke is still rising continually.”
“Misfortune!” said the sword-bearer.
“Of course a misfortune, which if it could not have been prevented should be avenged and similar ruins made of the enemy’s capital. In fact, it was coming to this when disturbers, suspecting the best intentions of an honorable man, proclaimed him a traitor, and resisted him in arms instead of aiding him against the enemy. It is not to be wondered, therefore, that the health of the prince totters, since he, whom God predestined to great things, sees that the malice of man is ever preparing new obstacles through which the entire undertaking may come to naught. The best friends of the prince have deceived him; those on whom he counted most have left him, or gone to the enemy.”
“So it is,” said the sword-bearer, seriously.
“That is very painful,” continued Kmita, “and I myself have heard the prince say, ‘I know that honorable men pass evil judgments on me; but why do they not come to Kyedani, why do they not tell me to my face what they have against me, and listen to my reasons?’ ”
“Whom has the prince in mind?” asked the sword-bearer.
“In the first rank you, my benefactor, for whom he has a genuine regard, and he suspects that you belong to the enemy.”
The sword-bearer began to smooth his forelock quickly. At last, seeing that the conversation was taking an undesirable turn, he clapped his hands.
A servant appeared in the doorway.
“Seest not that it is growing dark? Bring lights!” cried Pan Tomash.
“God sees,” continued Kmita, “that I had intended to lay before you proper assurances of my own devotion separately, but I have come here also at the order of the prince, who would have come in person to Billeviche if the time were more favoring.”
“Our thresholds are too lowly,” said the sword-bearer.
“Do not say that, since it is customary for neighbors to visit one another; but the prince has no time unoccupied, therefore he said to me, ‘Explain in my name to Pan Billevich that I am not able to visit him, but let him come to me with his niece, and that of course without delay, for tomorrow or the day following I know not where I shall be.’ So I have come with a request, and I trust that both of you are in good health; for when I drove in here I saw Panna Aleksandra in the door, but she vanished at once, like mist from the field.”
“That is true,” said the sword-bearer; “I sent her myself to see who had come.”
“I am waiting for your reply, my benefactor,” said Kmita.
At that moment the attendant brought in a light and placed it on the table; by the shining of the light it was seen that Billevich was greatly confused.
“This is no small honor for me,” said he, “but—I cannot go at once. Be pleased to excuse me to the hetman—you see that I have guests.”
“Oh, surely that will not hinder, for these gentlemen will yield to the prince.”
“We have our own tongues in our mouths, and can answer for ourselves,” said Pan Hudzynski.
“Without waiting for others to make decisions concerning us,” added Dovgird.
“You see,” continued Kmita, pretending to take in good part the churlish words of the nobles, “I knew that these were polite cavaliers. But to avoid slighting anyone, I invite them also in the name of the prince to come to Kyedani.”
“Too much favor,” said both; “we have something else to do.”
Kmita looked on them with a peculiar expression, and then said coldly, as if speaking to some fourth person, “When the prince invites, it is not permitted to refuse.”
At that they rose from their chairs.
“But is that constraint?” asked the sword-bearer.
“Pan Billevich, my benefactor,” answered Kmita, quickly, “those gentlemen will go whether they wish or not, for thus it has pleased me; but I desire not to use force with you, and I beg most sincerely that you will deign to gratify the prince. I
