But Zamoyski was not looking either at Prince Michael or his own guest. Kmita followed his glance, and behind the shoulders of Princess Griselda he saw a wonderful sight indeed, which he had not hitherto noticed.
It was the small pretty head of a maiden, who was as fair as milk, as red as a rose, and beautiful as an image. Short wavy locks ornamented her forehead; her quick eyes were directed to the officers sitting near Zamoyski, not omitting Sobiepan himself. At last those eyes rested on Kmita, and looked at him fixedly, as full of coquetry as if they intended to gaze into the depth of his heart.
But Kmita was not easily confused; therefore he began to look at once into those eyes with perfect insolence, and then he punched in the side Pan Shurski, lieutenant of the armored castle squadron at Zamost, who was sitting near him, and asked in an undertone—
“But who is that tailed farthing?”
“Worthy sir,” answered Shurski, aloud, “do not speak slightingly when you do not know of whom you are speaking. That is Panna Anusia Borzobogati. And you will not call her otherwise unless you wish to regret your rudeness.”
“You do not know, sir, that a farthing is a kind of bird and very beautiful, therefore there is no contempt in the name,” answered Kmita, laughing; “but noticing your anger you must be terribly in love.”
“But who is not in love?” muttered the testy Shurski. “Pan Zamoyski himself has almost looked his eyes out, and is as if sitting on an awl.”
“I see that, I see that!”
“What do you see? He, I, Grabovski, Stolangyevich, Konoyadzki, Rubetski of the dragoons, Pyechynga—she has sunk us all. And with you it will be the same, if you stay here. With her twenty-four hours are sufficient.”
“Lord brother! with me she could do nothing in twenty-four months.”
“How is that?” asked Shurski, with indignation; “are you made of metal, or what?”
“No! But if someone had stolen the last dollar from your pocket you would not be afraid of a thief.”
“Is that it?” answered Shurski.
Kmita grew gloomy at once, for his trouble came to his mind, and he noticed no longer that the black eyes were looking still more stubbornly at him, as if asking, “What is thy name, whence dost thou come, youthful knight?”
But Shurski muttered: “Bore, bore away! She bored that way into me till she bored to my heart. Now she does not even care.”
Kmita shook himself out of his seriousness.
“Why the hangman does not some one of you marry her?”
“Each one prevents every other.”
“The girl will be left in the lurch,” said Kmita, “though in truth there must be white seeds in that pear yet.”
Shurski opened his eyes, and bending to Kmita’s ear said very mysteriously—
“They say that she is twenty-five, as I love God. She was with Princess Griselda before the incursion of the rabble?”
“Wonder of wonders, I should not give her more than sixteen or eighteen at the most.”
This time the devil (the girl) guessed apparently that they were talking of her, for she covered her gleaming eyes with the lids, and only shot sidelong glances at Kmita, inquiring continually: “Who art thou, so handsome? Whence dost thou come?” And he began involuntarily to twirl his mustache.
After dinner Zamoyski, who from respect to the courtly manners of Kmita treated him as an unusual guest, took him by the arm. “Pan Babinich,” said he, “you have told me that you are from Lithuania?”
“That is true, Pan Zamoyski.”
“Tell me, did you know the Podbipientas?”
“As to knowing I know them not, for they are no longer in the world, at least those who had the arms Tear-Cowl. The last one fell at Zbaraj. He was the greatest knight that Lithuania had. Who of us does not know of Podbipienta?”
“I have heard also of him; but I ask for this reason: There is in attendance on my sister a lady of honorable family. She was the betrothed of this Podbipienta who was killed at Zbaraj. She is an orphan, without father or mother; and though my sister loves her greatly, still, being the natural guardian of my sister, I have in this way the maiden in guardianship.”
“A pleasant guardianship!” put in Kmita.
Zamoyski smiled, winked, and smacked his tongue. “Sweetcakes! isn’t she?”
But suddenly he saw that he was betraying himself, and assumed a serious air.
“Oh, you traitor!” said he, half jestingly, half seriously, “you want to hang me on a hook, and I almost let it out!”
“What?” asked Kmita, looking him quickly in the eyes.
Here Zamoyski saw clearly that in quickness of wit he was not the equal of his guest, and turned the conversation at once.
“That Podbipienta,” said he, “bequeathed her some estates there in your region. I don’t remember the names of them, for they are strange—Baltupie, Syrutsiani, Myshykishki—in a word, all that he had. Would I could remember them! Five or six estates.”
“They are adjoining estates, not separate. Podbipienta was a very wealthy man, and if that lady should come to his fortune she might have her own ladies-in-waiting, and seek for a husband among senators.”
“Do you tell me that? Do you know those places?”
“I know only Lyubovich and Sheputy, for they are near my land. The forest boundary alone is ten miles long, and the fields and meadows are as much more.”
“Where are they?”
“In Vityebsk.”
“Oh, far away! the affair is not worth the trouble, and the country is under the enemy.”
“When we drive out the enemy we shall come to the property. But the Podbipientas have property in other places—in Jmud very considerable, I know, for I have a piece of land there myself.”
“I see that your substance is not a bag of chopped straw.”
“It brings in nothing now. But I
