Kmita grew paler and paler, but with the remnant of his strength he held in curb an outburst of fury; the prince, absorbed in his own speech, delighted with his own words, with his own wisdom, paid no attention to his listener, and continued—
“There is a custom in this land that when a man is dying his relatives at the last moment pull the pillow from under his head, so that he may not suffer longer. I and the prince voevoda of Vilna have determined to render this special service to the Commonwealth. But because many plunderers are watching for the inheritance and we cannot get it all, we wish that a part, and that no small one, should come to us. As relatives, we have that right. If with this comparison I have not spoken on a level with your understanding, and have not been able to hit the point, I will tell you in other words: Suppose the Commonwealth a red cloth at which are pulling the Swedes, Hmelnitski, the Hyperboreans,23 the Tartars, the elector, and whosoever lives around. But I and the prince voevoda of Vilna have agreed that enough of that cloth must remain in our hands to make a robe for us; therefore we do not prevent the dragging, but we drag ourselves. Let Hmelnitski stay in the Ukraine; let the Swedes and the elector settle about Prussia and Great Poland; let Rakotsy, or whoever is nearer, take Little Poland—Lithuania must be for Prince Yanush, and, together with his daughter, for me.”
Kmita rose quickly. “I give thanks, your highness; that is all I wanted to know.”
“You are going out, Sir Cavalier?”
“I am.”
The prince looked carefully at Kmita, and at that moment first noted his pallor and excitement.
“What is the matter, Pan Kmita?” asked he. “You look like a ghost.”
“Weariness has knocked me off my feet, and my head is dizzy. Farewell, your highness; I will come before starting, to bow to you again.”
“Make haste, then, for I start after midday myself.”
“I shall return in an hour at furthest.”
When he had said this, Kmita bent his head and went out. In the other room the servants rose at sight of him, but he passed like a drunken man, seeing no one. At the threshold of the room he caught his head with both hands, and began to repeat, almost with a groan—
“Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews! Jesus, Mary, Joseph!”
With tottering steps he passed through the guard, composed of six men with halberds. Outside the gate were his own men, the sergeant Soroka at the head of them.
“After me!” called Kmita. And he moved through the town toward the inn.
Soroka, an old soldier of Kmita’s, knowing him perfectly, noticed at once that something uncommon had happened to the colonel.
“Let your soul be on guard,” said he quietly to the men; “woe to him on whom his anger falls now!”
The soldiers hastened their steps in silence, but Kmita did not go at a walk; he almost ran, waving his hand and repeating words well-nigh incoherent.
To the ears of Soroka came only broken phrases—
“Poisoners, faith-breakers, traitors! Crime and treason—the two are the same—”
Then he began to mention his old comrades. The names Kokosinski, Kulvyets, Ranitski, Rekuts, and others fell from his lips one after another; a number of times he mentioned Volodyovski. Soroka heard this with wonder, and grew more and more alarmed; but in his mind he thought—
“Someone’s blood will flow; it cannot be otherwise.”
Meanwhile they had come to the inn. Kmita shut himself in his room at once, and for about an hour he gave no sign of life. The soldiers meanwhile had tied on the packs and saddled the horses without order.
“That is no harm,” said Soroka; “it is necessary to be ready for everything.”
“We too are ready!” answered the old fighters, moving their mustaches.
In fact, it came out soon that Soroka knew his colonel well; for Kmita appeared suddenly in the front room, without a cap, in his trousers and shirt only.
“Saddle the horses!” cried he.
“They are saddled.”
“Fasten on the packs!”
“They are fastened.”
“A ducat a man!” cried the young colonel, who in spite of all his fever and excitement saw that those soldiers had guessed his thought quickly.
“We give thanks, Commander!” cried all in chorus.
“Two men will take the packhorses and go out of the place immediately toward Dembova. Go slowly through the town; outside the town put the horses on a gallop, and stop not till the forest is reached.”
“According to command!”
“Four others load their pistols. For me saddle two horses, and let another be ready.”
“I knew there would be something!” muttered Soroka.
“Now, Sergeant, after me!” cried Kmita.
And undressed as he was, in trousers only, and open shirt, he went out of the front room. Soroka followed him, opening his eyes widely with wonder; they went in this fashion to the well in the yard of the inn. Here Kmita stopped, and pointing to the bucket hanging from the sweep, said—
“Pour water on my head!”
Soroka knew from experience how dangerous it was to ask twice about an order; he seized the rope, let the bucket down into the water, drew up quickly, and taking the bucket in his hands, threw the water on Pan Andrei, who, puffing and blowing like a whale, rubbed his wet hair with his hands, and cried—
“More!”
Soroka repeated the act, and threw water with all his force, just as if he were putting out a fire.
“Enough!” said Kmita, at length. “Follow me, help me to dress.”
Both went to the inn. At the gate they met the two men going out with two packhorses.
“Slowly through the town; outside the town on a gallop!” commanded Kmita; and he went in.
Half an hour later he appeared dressed completely, as if for the road, with high boots and an elkskin coat, girded with a leather belt into which was thrust a pistol.
The soldiers
