“You do not know indeed, Pan Andrei,” said the little knight, “what great weight you have with the king. I was at the council of war yesterday, for Pan Charnyetski took me with him. They talked of the storm, and then of the news which had just come in from Lithuania, the war there, and the cruelties which Pontus de la Gardie and the Swedes permit. They were considering at the council how to strengthen resistance. Sapyeha said it was best to send thither a couple of squadrons and a man who could be there what Charnyetski was at the beginning of the war in Poland. To which the king answered: ‘There is only one such man, Babinich.’ The others confirmed this at once.”
“I would go most willingly to Lithuania, and especially to Jmud,” answered Kmita. “I resolved to ask of the king myself permission to go, but I am waiting till Warsaw is taken.”
“There will be a general storm tomorrow,” said Zagloba.
“I know, but how is Kettling?”
“Who is that? Hassling?”
“All one, for he has two names, as is the custom among the English, the Scots, and many other nations.”
“True,” answered Zagloba, “and a Spaniard every day of the week has a new name for himself. Your servant told me that Hassling, or Kettling, is well; he has begun to talk, walks, the fever has left him, he calls for food every hour.”
“Have you been with him?” asked Kmita of Pan Michael.
“I have not, for I have had no time. Who has a head for anything but the storm?”
“Then let us go now.”
“Go to sleep first,” said Zagloba.
“True! true! I am barely standing on my feet.”
So when he came to his own quarters Pan Andrei followed Zagloba’s advice, especially as he found Hassling asleep. But Zagloba and Volodyovski came to see him in the evening; they sat down in the broad summerhouse which the Tartars had made for their bagadyr. The Kyemliches poured out for them mead a hundred years old, which the king had sent to Kmita; and they drank it willingly, for the air was hot outside. Hassling, pale and emaciated, seemed to draw life and strength from the precious liquid. Zagloba clicked with his tongue, and wiped perspiration from his forehead.
“Hei! how the great guns are thundering!” said the young Scot, listening. “Tomorrow you will go to the storm—it is well!—for the healthy—God give you blessing! I am of foreign blood, and serve him whom it was my duty to serve, but you have my best wishes. Ah, what mead this is! Life enters me.”
Thus speaking, he threw back his golden hair and raised his blue eyes toward heaven; he had a wonderful face, half childlike as yet. Zagloba looked at him with a certain emotion.
“You speak Polish as well as any of us,” said he. “Become a Pole, love this our country, and you will do an honorable deed, and mead will not be lacking to you. It is not difficult for a soldier to receive naturalization with us.”
“All the more easy since I am a noble,” answered Hassling. “My name is Hassling-Kettling of Elgin. My family come from England, though settled in Scotland.”
“Those countries beyond the sea are far away, and somehow it is more decent for a man to live here,” said Zagloba.
“It is pleasant for me here.”
“But unpleasant for us,” said Kmita, who from the beginning was twisting impatiently on the bench, “for we are anxious to hear what is going on in Taurogi; but you are talking genealogies.”
“Ask me; I will answer.”
“Have you seen Panna Billevich often?”
Over the pale face of Hassling blushes passed. “Every day!” said he.
Kmita looked at him quickly. “Were you such a confidant? Why do you blush? Every day—how every day?”
“For she knew that I wished her well, and I rendered her some services. That will appear from the further narrative, but now it is necessary to commence at the beginning. You, gentlemen, know, perhaps, that I was not at Kyedani when Prince Boguslav came and took that lady to Taurogi? Therefore I will not repeat why that happened, for different people gave different accounts. I will only say that they had scarcely arrived when all saw at once that the prince was terribly in love—”
“God punish him!” cried Kmita.
“Amusements followed, such as had not been before—tilting at the ring and tournaments. Anyone would have thought it a time of the greatest peace; but letters were coming in every day, as well as envoys from the elector and from Prince Yanush. We knew that Prince Yanush was pushed by Sapyeha and the confederates; he implored for rescue by the mercy of God, for destruction was threatening him. We did nothing. On the elector’s boundary troops were standing ready, captains were coming with letters; but we did not go with assistance, for the prince had no success with the lady.”
“Is that why Boguslav did not give aid to his cousin?” asked Zagloba.
“It is. Patterson said the same, and all the persons nearest the prince. Some complained of this; others were glad that the Radzivills were falling. Sakovich conducted all public business for the prince, answered letters, and held council with the envoys; but the prince was laboring on one idea only, to contrive some kind of amusement, either a cavalcade or hunt. He, a miser, scattered money on every side. He gave orders to fell forests for whole miles, so that the lady might have a better view from her windows; in a word, he really scattered flowers under her feet, and received her in such fashion that had she been Queen of Sweden he could have invented nothing better. Many pitied her
