“As a noble, I protest,” said the sword-bearer, “and the law protects me.”
“And sabres!” cried Hudzynski and Dovgird.
Kmita laughed, frowned, and said, “Put away your sabres, gentlemen, or I shall give the order to place you both against the barn and put a bullet into the head of each one of you.”
At this they grew timid, and began to look at each other and at Kmita; but the sword-bearer cried—
“The most outrageous violence against the freedom of nobles, against privileges!”
“There will be no violence if you comply of your own will,” said Kmita; “and the proof is in this that I left dragoons in the village, and came here alone to invite you as one neighbor another. Do not refuse, for the times are such that it is difficult to pay attention to refusals. The prince himself will excuse you therefore, and know that you will be received as a neighbor and a friend. Understand, too, that could you be received otherwise, I would a hundred times rather have a bullet in my head than come here for you. Not a hair will fall from any Billevich head while I am alive. Call to mind who I am, remember Heraclius Billevich, remember his will, and consider whether the prince would have selected me did he not intend to deal with you in sincerity.”
“Why then does he use force, why have I to go under constraint? How am I to trust him, when all Lithuania talks of the oppression under which honorable citizens are groaning in Kyedani?”
Kmita drew breath; for, from his words and voice he knew that Billevich was beginning to weaken in his resistance.
“Worthy benefactor,” said he, almost joyously, “constraint among neighbors often rises from affection. And when you order servants to put the carriage-wheel of a welcome guest in the storehouse, or his provision-chest in the larder, is not that constraint? And when you force him to drink, even when wine is flowing out through his nostrils, is not that constraint? And be assured that even had I to bind you and take you bound to Kyedani among dragoons, that would be for your good. Just think, insurgent soldiers are wandering about and committing lawless deeds, peasants are mustering, Swedish troops are approaching, and do you think to save yourself from accident in the uproar, or that some of these will not come today or tomorrow, plunder and burn your property, and attack your person? Is Billeviche a fortress? Can you defend yourself here? What does the prince wish for you? Safety; for Kyedani is the only place where you are not in danger. A detachment of the prince’s troops will guard your property here, as the eyes in their heads, from all disorder of soldiers; and if one fork is lost, then take my whole fortune.”
Billevich began to walk through the room. “Can I trust your word?”
At that moment Panna Aleksandra entered the room. Kmita approached her quickly, but suddenly remembered the events of Kyedani, and her cold face fixed him to the floor; he bowed therefore from a distance, in silence.
Pan Billevich stood before her. “We have to go to Kyedani,” said he.
“And for what reason?” asked she.
“For the hetman invites.”
“Very kindly—as a neighbor,” added Kmita.
“Yes, very kindly,” said Billevich, with a certain bitterness; “but if we do not go of our own will, this cavalier has the order to surround us with dragoons and take us by force.”
“God preserve us from that!” said Kmita.
“Have not I told you, Uncle,” asked Panna Aleksandra, “that we ought to flee as far as possible, for they would not leave us here undisturbed? Now my words have come true.”
“What’s to be done, what’s to be done? There is no remedy against force,” cried Billevich.
“True,” answered the lady: “but we ought not to go to that infamous house of our own will. Let murderers take us, bind us, and bear us. Not we alone shall suffer persecution, not us alone will the vengeance of traitors reach; but let them know that we prefer death to infamy.”
Here she turned with an expression of supreme contempt to Kmita: “Bind us, sir officer, or sir executioner, and take us with horses, for in another way we will not go.”
The blood rushed to Kmita’s face; it seemed for a time that he would burst forth in terrible anger, but he restrained himself.
“Ah, gracious lady,” said he, with a voice stifled from excitement, “I have not favor in your eyes, since you wish to make me a murderer, a traitor, and a man of violence. May God judge who is right—whether I serving the hetman, or you insulting me as a dog. God gave you beauty, but a heart venomous and implacable. You are glad to suffer yourself, that you may inflict still greater pain on another. You exceed the measure—as I live, you exceed it—and nothing will come of that.”
“The maiden speaks well,” cried Billevich, to whom daring came suddenly; “we will not go of our own will. Take us with dragoons.”
But Kmita paid no attention whatever to him, so much was he excited, and so deeply touched.
“You are in love with the sufferings of people,” continued he to Olenka, “and you proclaim me a traitor without judgment, without considering a reason, without permitting me to say a word in my own defence. Let it be so. But you will go to Kyedani—of your own will
