“Gracious Lord,” answered Babinich, quickly, “one word from your grace will clear that disturber more than my greatest oath.”
“And the voice is the same,” said Pan Michael, with growing astonishment; “but that wound across the mouth was not there.”
“Worthy sir,” answered Kmita, “the head of a noble is a register on which sometimes a man’s hand writes with a sabre. And here is your note; recognize it.”
He bowed his head, shaven at the sides, and pointed at the long whitish scar.
“My hand!” cried Volodyovski.
“But I say that you do not know Kmita,” put in the king.
“How is that, Gracious Lord?”
“For you know a great soldier, but a self-willed one, an associate in the treason of Radzivill. But here stands the Hector of Chenstohova, to whom, next to Kordetski, Yasna Gora owes most; here stands the defender of the country and my faithful servant, who covered me with his own breast and saved my life when in the pass I had fallen among the Swedes as among wolves. Such is this new Kmita. Know him and love him, for he deserves it.”
Volodyovski began to move his yellow mustaches, not knowing what to say; and the king added—
“And know that not only did he promise Prince Boguslav nothing, but he began on him the punishment for Radzivill intrigues, for he seized him and intended to give him into your hands.”
“And he warned us against Prince Yanush!” cried Volodyovski. “What angel converted you?”
“Embrace each other!” said the king.
“I loved you at once!” said Kmita to Volodyovski.
Then they fell into each other’s embraces, and the king looked on them and pursed out his lips with delight, time after time, as was his habit. But Kmita embraced the little knight with such feeling that he raised him as he would a cat, and not soon did he place him back on his feet.
Then the king went to the daily council, for the two hetmans of the kingdom had come to Lvoff, they were to form the army there, and lead it later to the aid of Charnyetski, and the confederate divisions marching, under various leaders, throughout the country.
The knights were alone.
“Come to my quarters,” said Volodyovski; “you will find there Pan Yan, Pan Stanislav, and Zagloba, who will be glad to hear what the king has told me. There too is Kharlamp.”
But Kmita approached the little knight with great disquiet on his face. “Did you find many people with Radzivill?” asked he.
“Of officers, Kharlamp alone was there.”
“I do not ask about the military, but about women.”
“I know what you mean,” answered Pan Michael, flushing somewhat. “Prince Boguslav took Panna Billevich to Taurogi.”
Kmita’s face changed at once; first it was pale as a parchment, then purple, and again whiter than before. He did not find words at once; but his nostrils quivered while he was catching breath, which apparently failed in his breast. Then he seized his temples with both hands, and running through the room like a madman, began to repeat—
“Woe to me, woe, woe!”
“Come! Kharlamp will tell you better, for he was present,” said Volodyovski.
LIX
When they had left the king’s chamber the two knights walked on in silence. Volodyovski did not wish to speak; Kmita was unable to utter a word, for pain and rage were gnawing him. They broke through the crowds of people who had collected in great numbers on the streets in consequence of tidings that the first detachment of the Tartars promised by the Khan had arrived, and was to enter the city to be presented to the king. The little knight led on; Kmita hastened after him like one beside himself, with his cap pulled over his eyes and stumbling against men on the way.
When they had come to a more spacious place Pan Michael seized Kmita by the wrist and said—
“Control yourself! Despair will do nothing.”
“I am not in despair,” answered Kmita, “but I want his blood.”
“You may be sure to find him among the enemies of the country.”
“So much the better,” answered Kmita, feverishly; “but even should I find him in a church—”
“In God’s name, do not commit sacrilege!” interrupted the little colonel, quickly.
“That traitor will bring me to sin.”
They were silent for a time. Then Kmita asked, “Where is he now?”
“Maybe in Taurogi, and maybe not. Kharlamp will know better.”
“Let us go.”
“It is not far. The squadron is outside the town, but we are here; and Kharlamp is with us.”
Then Kmita began to breathe heavily like a man going up a steep mountain. “I am fearfully weak yet,” said he.
“You need moderation all the more, since you will have to deal with such a knight.”
“I had him once, and here is what remained.” Kmita pointed to the scar on his face.
“Tell me how it was, for the king barely mentioned it.”
Kmita began to tell; and though he gritted his teeth, and even threw his cap on the ground, still his mind escaped from misfortune, and he calmed himself somewhat.
“I knew that you were daring,” said Volodyovski; “but to carry off Radzivill from the middle of his own squadron, I did not expect that, even of you.”
Meanwhile they arrived at the quarters. Pan Yan and Pan Stanislav, Zagloba, Jendzian, and Kharlamp were looking at Crimean coats made of sheepskin, which a trading Tartar had brought. Kharlamp, who knew Kmita better, recognized him at one glance of the eye, and dropping the coat exclaimed—
“Jesus, Mary!”
“May the name of the Lord be praised!” cried Jendzian.
But before all had recovered breath after the wonder, Volodyovski said—
“I present to you, gentlemen, the Hector of Chenstohova, the faithful servant of the king, who has shed his blood for the faith, the country, and the sovereign.”
When astonishment had grown still greater, the worthy Pan Michael began to relate with enthusiasm what he had heard from the king of Kmita’s services, and from Pan Andrei himself of the seizure of Prince Boguslav; at last he finished thus—
“Not only is
