“How did they quiet them?”
“Whoso gets a sabre on his skull is as quiet as a coward.”
“As God lives, that is murder!”
“That is just why I went there. The soldiers ran to me at once with complaints and outcries against the oppression in which they were living, being persecuted without cause. ‘Our stomachs are empty,’ said they, ‘what are we to do?’ I commanded the mayor to appear. He hesitated long, but at last came with three other men. They began: ‘Even if the soldiers had not orders, why did they beat us, why burn the place? We should have given them to eat and to drink for a kind word; but they wanted ham, mead, dainties, and we are poor people, we have not these things for ourselves. We will seek defence at law, and you will answer before a court for your soldiers.’ ”
“God will bless you,” cried Olenka, “if you have rendered justice as was proper.”
“If I have.” Here Pan Andrei wriggled like a student who has to confess his fault, and began to collect the forelock on his forehead with his hand. “My queen!” cried he at last, in an imploring voice, “my jewel, be not angry with me!”
“What did you do then?” asked Olenka, uneasily.
“I commanded to give one hundred blows apiece to the mayor and the councillors,” said Kmita, at one breath.
Olenka made no answer; she merely rested her hands on her knees, dropped her head on her bosom, and sank into silence.
“Cut off my head!” cried Kmita, “but do not be angry! I have not told all yet!”
“Is there more?” groaned the lady.
“There is, for they sent then to Ponyevyej for aid. One hundred stupid fellows came with officers. These men I frightened away, but the officers—for God’s sake be not angry!—I ordered to be chased and flogged with braided whips, naked over the snow, as I once did to Pan Tumgrat in Orsha.”
Panna Billevich raised her head; her stern eyes were flashing with indignation, and purple came out on her cheeks. “You have neither shame nor conscience!” said she.
Kmita looked at her in astonishment, he was silent for a moment, then asked with changed voice, “Are you speaking seriously or pretending?”
“I speak seriously; that deed is becoming a bandit and not a cavalier. I speak seriously, since your reputation is near my heart; for it is a shame to me that you have barely come here, when all the people look on you as a man of violence and point at you with their fingers.”
“What care I for the people? One dog watches ten of their cabins, and then has not much to do.”
“There is no infamy on those modest people, there is no disgrace on the name of one of them. Justice will pursue no man here except you.”
“Oh, let not your head ache for that. Every man is lord for himself in our Commonwealth, if he has only a sabre in his hand and can gather any kind of party. What can they do to me? Whom fear I here?”
“If you fear not man, then know that I fear God’s anger, and the tears of people; I fear wrongs also. And moreover I am not willing to share disgrace with anyone; though I am a weak woman, still the honor of my name is dearer to me than it is to a certain one who calls himself a cavalier.”
“In God’s name, do not threaten me with refusal, for you do not know me yet.”
“I think that my grandfather too did not know you.”
Kmita’s eyes shot sparks; but the Billevich blood began to play in her.
“Oh, gesticulate and grit your teeth,” continued she, boldly; “but I fear not, though I am alone and you have a whole party of robbers—my innocence defends me. You think that I know not how you fired at the portraits in Lyubich and dragged in the girls for debauchery. You do not know me if you suppose that I shall humbly be silent. I want honesty from you, and no will can prevent me from exacting it. Nay, it was the will of my grandfather that I should be the wife of only an honest man.”
Kmita was evidently ashamed of what had happened at Lyubich; for dropping his head, he asked in a voice now calmer, “Who told you of this shooting?”
“All the nobles in the district speak of it.”
“I will pay those homespuns, the traitors, for their good will,” answered Kmita, sullenly. “But that happened in drink—in company—for soldiers are not able to restrain themselves. As for the girls I had nothing to do with them.”
“I know that those brazen ruffians, those murderers, persuade you to everything.”
“They are not murderers, they are my officers.”
“I commanded those officers of yours to leave my house.”
Olenka looked for an outburst; but she saw with greatest astonishment that the news of turning his comrades out of the house made no impression on Kmita; on the contrary, it seemed to improve his humor.
“You ordered them to go out?” asked be.
“I did.”
“And they went?”
“They did.”
“As God lives, you have the courage of a cavalier. That pleases me greatly, for it is dangerous to quarrel with such people. More than one man has paid dearly for doing so. But they observe manners before Kmita! You saw they bore themselves obediently as lambs; you saw that—but why? Because they are afraid of me.”
Here Kmita looked boastfully at Olenka, and began to twirl his mustache. This fickleness of humor and inopportune boastfulness enraged her to the last degree; therefore she said haughtily and with emphasis, “You must choose between me and them; there is no other way.”
Kmita seemed not to note the decision with which she spoke, and answered carelessly, almost gayly: “But why choose when I have you and I have them? You may do what you like in Vodokty; but if my comrades have committed no wrong, no license here, why should I drive them away? You
