“I should prefer the Swedes to robbers, of whom there are many everywhere. Whoso goes with horses must go armed and keep on the watch, for horses are very tempting.”
“If it is true that Pan Volodyovski is in Shchuchyn,” said Pan Jendzian, “this is surely a party of his. Before they take up their quarters there they wish to know if the country is safe, for with Swedes at the border it would be difficult to remain in quiet.”
When he heard this, Pan Andrei walked around in the room and sat down in its darkest corner, where the sides of the chimney cast a deep shadow on the corner of the table; but meanwhile the sound of the tramp and snorting of horses came in from outside, and after a time a number of men entered the room.
Walking in advance, a gigantic fellow struck with wooden foot the loose planks in the floor of the room. Kmita looked at him, and the heart died within his bosom. It was Yuzva Butrym, called Footless.
“But where is the host?” inquired he, halting in the middle of the room.
“I am here!” answered the innkeeper, “at your service.”
“Oats for the horses!”
“I have no oats, except what these men are using.” Saying this, he pointed at Jendzian and the horse-dealer’s men.
“Whose men are you?” asked Jendzian.
“And who are you yourself?”
“The starosta of Vansosh.”
His own people usually called Jendzian starosta, as he was the tenant of a starostaship, and he thus named himself on the most important occasions.
Yuzva Butrym was confused, seeing with what a high personage he had to do; therefore he removed his cap, and said—
“With the forehead, great mighty lord. It was not possible to recognize dignity in the dark.”
“Whose men are these?” repeated Jendzian, placing his hands on his hips.
“The Lauda men from the former Billevich squadron, and now of Pan Volodyovski’s.”
“For God’s sake! Then Pan Volodyovski is in the town of Shchuchyn?”
“In his own person, and with other colonels who have come from Jmud.”
“Praise be to God, praise be to God!” repeated the delighted starosta. “And what colonels are with Pan Volodyovski?”
“Pan Mirski was,” answered Butrym, “till apoplexy struck him on the road; but Pan Oskyerko is there, and Pan Kovalski, and the two Skshetuskis.”
“What Skshetuskis?” cried Jendzian. “Is not one of them Skshetuski from Bujets?”
“I do not know where he lives,” said Butrym, “but I know that he was at Zbaraj.”
“Save us! that is my lord!”
Here Jendzian saw how strangely such a word would sound in the mouth of a starosta, and added—
“My lord godson’s father, I wanted to say.”
The starosta said this without forethought, for in fact he had been the second godfather to Skshetuski’s first son, Yaremka.
Meanwhile thoughts one after another were crowding to the head of Pan Kmita, sitting in the dark corner of the room. First the soul within him was roused at sight of the terrible graycoat, and his hand grasped the sabre involuntarily. For he knew that Yuzva, mainly, had caused the death of his comrades, and was his most inveterate enemy. The old-time Pan Kmita would have commanded to take him and tear him with horses, but the Pan Babinich of that day controlled himself. Alarm, however, seized him at the thought that if the man were to recognize him various dangers might come to his farther journey and the whole undertaking. He determined, therefore, not to let himself be known, and he pushed ever deeper into the shade; at last he put his elbow on the table, and placing his head in his palms began to feign sleep; but at the same time he whispered to Soroka, who was sitting at the table—
“Go to the stable, let the horses be ready. We will go in the night.”
Soroka rose and went out; Kmita still feigned sleep. Various memories came to his head. These people reminded him of Lauda, Vodokty, and that brief past which had vanished as a dream. When a short time before Yuzva Butrym said that he belonged to the former Billevich squadron, the heart trembled in Pan Andrei at the mere name. And it came to his mind that it was also evening, that the fire was burning in the chimney in the same way, when he dropped unexpectedly into Vodokty, as if with the snow, and for the first time saw in the servants’ hall Olenka among the spinners.
He saw now with closed lids, as if with eyesight, that bright, calm lady; he remembered everything that had taken place—how she wished to be his guardian angel, to strengthen him in good, to guard him from evil, to show him the straight road of worthiness. If he had listened to her, if he had listened to her! She knew also what ought to be done, on what side to stand; knew where was virtue, honesty, duty, and simply would have taken him by the hand and led him, if he had listened to her.
Here love, roused by remembrance, rose so much in Pan Andrei’s heart that he was ready to pour out all his blood, if he could fall at the feet of that lady; and at that moment he was ready to fall on the neck of that bear of Lauda, that slayer of his comrades, simply because he was from that region, had named the Billeviches, had seen Olenka.
His own name repeated a number of times by Yuzva Butrym roused him first from his musing. The tenant of Vansosh inquired about acquaintances, and Yuzva told him what had happened in Kyedani from the time of the memorable treaty of the hetman with the Swedes; he spoke of the oppression of the army, the imprisonment of the colonels, of sending them to Birji, and their fortunate escape. The name of Kmita, covered with all the horror of treason and cruelty, was repeated prominently in those narratives. Yuzva did not know that Pan Volodyovski, the Skshetuskis, and Zagloba owed their lives to Kmita; but he told
