“Advise me how to put that maiden on her feet.”
Kmita laughed.
“I prefer to talk over this matter rather than others. It would be better for her to go to Pan Sapyeha. If he would take the affair in hand, he could do a great deal as voevoda of Vityebsk and the most noted man in Lithuania. He could send notices to the tribunals that the will was made to Panna Borzobogati, so that Podbipienta’s more distant relatives should not seize the property.”
“That is true; but now there are no tribunals, and Sapyeha has something else in his head.”
“The lady might be placed in his hands and under his guardianship. Having her before his eyes, he would give aid more speedily.”
Kmita looked with astonishment at Zamoyski. “What object has he in wishing to remove her from this place?” thought he.
Zamoyski continued: “It would be difficult for her to live in camp, in the tent of the voevoda of Vityebsk; but she might stay with his daughters.”
“I do not understand this,” thought Kmita; “would he consent to be only her guardian?”
“But here is the difficulty: how can I send her to those parts in the present time of disturbance? Several hundred men would be needed, and I cannot strip Zamost. If I could only find someone to conduct her. Now, you might take her; you are going to Sapyeha. I would give you letters, and you would give me your word of honor to take her in safety.”
“I conduct her to Sapyeha?” asked Kmita, in amazement.
“Is the office unpleasant? Even if it should come to love on the road—”
“Ah,” said Kmita, “another one is managing my affections; and though the tenant pays nothing, still I do not think of making a change.”
“So much the better; with all the greater satisfaction can I confide her to you.”
A moment of silence followed.
“Well, will you undertake it?” asked the starosta,
“I am marching with Tartars.”
“People tell me that the Tartars fear you worse than fire. Well, what? Will you undertake it?”
“H’m! why not, if thereby I can oblige your grace? But—”
“Ah, you think that the princess must give permission; she will, as God is dear to me! For she—fancy to yourself—she suspects me.”
Here the starosta whispered in Kmita’s ear; at last he said aloud—
“She was very angry with me for that, and I put my ears aside; for to war with women—behold you! I would rather have the Swedes outside Zamost. But she will have the best proof that I am planning no evil, when I wish to send the girl away. She will be terribly amazed, it is true; but at the first opportunity I’ll talk with her touching this matter.”
When he had said this, Zamoyski turned and went away. Kmita looked at him, and muttered—
“You are setting some snare, Pan Sobiepan; and though I do not understand the object, I see the snare quickly, for you are a terribly awkward trapper.”
Zamoyski was pleased with himself, though he understood well that the work was only half done; and another remained so difficult that at thought of it despair seized him, and even terror. He had to get permission of Princess Griselda, whose severity and penetrating mind Pan Sobiepan feared from his whole soul. But having begun, he wished to bring the work to completion as early as possible; therefore next morning, after Mass, and breakfast, and after he had reviewed the hired German infantry, he went to the chambers of the princess.
He found the lady embroidering a cope for the college. Behind her was Anusia winding silk hung upon two armchairs; a second skein of rose color she had placed around her neck, and moving her hands quickly, she ran around the chairs in pursuit of the unwinding thread.
Zamoyski’s eyes grew bright at sight of her; but he assumed quickly a serious look, and greeting the princess, began as if unwillingly—
“That Pan Babinich who has come here with the Tartars is a Lithuanian—a man of importance, a very elegant fellow, a born knight in appearance. Have you noticed him?”
“You brought him to me yourself,” answered the princess, indifferently, “he has an honest face.”
“I asked him concerning that property left Panna Borzobogati. He says it is a fortune almost equal to that of the Radzivills.”
“God grant it to Anusia; her orphanhood will be the lighter, and her old age as well,” said the lady.
“But there is a danger lest distant relatives tear it apart. Babinich says that Sapyeha might occupy himself with it, if he wished. He is an honest man, and very friendly to us: I would confide my own daughter to him. It would be enough for him to send notices to the tribunals, and proclaim the guardianship. But Babinich says it is needful that Panna Anusia should go to those places in person.”
“Where—to Pan Sapyeha?”
“Or to his daughters, so as to be there, that the formal installation might take place.”
The starosta invented at that moment “formal installation,” thinking justly that the princess would accept this counterfeit money instead of true coin. She thought a moment, and asked—
“How could she go now, when Swedes are on the road?”
“I have news that the Swedes have left Lublin. All this side of the Vistula is free.”
“And who would take Anusia to Pan Sapyeha?”
“Suppose this same Babinich.”
“With Tartars? Lord Brother, fear God; those are wild, chaotic people!”
“I am not afraid,” put in Anusia, curtesying.
But Princess Griselda had noted already that her brother came with some plan all prepared; therefore she sent Anusia out of the room, and began to look at Pan Sobiepan with an inquiring gaze. But he said as if to himself—
“These Tartars are down in the dust before Babinich; he hangs them for any insubordination.”
“I cannot permit this journey,” answered the princess. “The girl is honest but giddy, and rouses enthusiasm quickly. You know that best yourself. I would never confide her to a young, unknown man.”
“Unknown here he is not, for who has not heard of
