“There is no time for greetings. What is your wish?”
“It would be more proper for me to ask what you want. You do not know me, nor I you; why attack me?”
“Traitor!” cried Volodyovski. “With me are the men of Lauda who have returned from the war, and they have accounts with you for robbery, for blood shed without cause and for the lady whom you have carried away. But do you know what raptus puellae means? You must yield your life.”
A moment of silence followed.
“You would not call me traitor a second time,” said Kmita, “were it not for the door between us.”
“Open it, then! I do not hinder.”
“More than one dog from Lauda will cover himself with his legs before it is open. You will not take me alive.”
“Then we will drag you out dead, by the hair. All one to us!”
“Listen with care, note what I tell you! If you do not let us go, I have a barrel of powder here, and the match is burning already. I’ll blow up the house and all who are in it with myself, so help me God! Come now and take me!”
This time a still longer silence followed. Volodyovski sought an answer in vain. The nobles began to look at one another in fear. There was so much wild energy in the words of Kmita that all believed his threat. The whole victory might be turned into dust by one spark, and Panna Billevich lost forever.
“For God’s sake!” muttered one of the Butryms, “he is a madman. He is ready to do what he says.”
Suddenly a happy thought came to Volodyovski, as it seemed to him. “There is another way!” cried he. “Meet me, traitor, with a sabre. If you put me down, you will go away in freedom.”
For a time there was no answer. The hearts of the Lauda men beat unquietly.
“With a sabre?” asked Kmita, at length. “Can that be?”
“If you are not afraid, it will be.”
“The word of a cavalier that I shall go away in freedom?”
“The word—”
“Impossible!” cried a number of voices among the Butryms.
“Quiet, a hundred devils!” roared Volodyovski; “if not, then let him blow you up with himself.”
The Butryms were silent; after a while one of them said, “Let it be as you wish.”
“Well, what is the matter there?” asked Kmita, derisively. “Do the gray coats agree?”
“Yes, and they will take oath on their swords, if you wish.”
“Let them take oath.”
“Come together, gentlemen, come together!” cried Volodyovski to the nobles who were standing under the walls and surrounding the whole house.
After a while all collected at the main door, and soon the news that Kmita wanted to blow himself up with powder spread on every side. They were as if petrified with terror. Meanwhile Volodyovski raised his voice and said amid silence like that of the grave—
“I take you all present here to witness that I have challenged Pan Kmita, the banneret of Orsha, to a duel, and I have promised that if he puts me down he shall go hence in freedom, without obstacle from you; to this you must swear on your sword-hilts, in the name of God and the holy cross—”
“But wait!” cried Kmita—“in freedom with all my men, and I take the lady with me.”
“The lady will remain here,” answered Volodyovski, “and the men will go as prisoners to the nobles.”
“That cannot be.”
“Then blow yourself up with powder! We have already mourned for her; as to the men, ask them what they prefer.”
Silence followed.
“Let it be so,” said Kmita, after a time. “If I do not take her today, I will in a month. You will not hide her under the ground! Take the oath!”
“Take the oath!” repeated Volodyovski.
“We swear by the Most High God and the Holy Cross. Amen!”
“Well, come out, come out!” cried Volodyovski.
“You are in a hurry to the other world?”
“No matter, no matter, only come out quickly.”
The iron bars holding the door on the inside began to groan.
Volodyovski pushed back, and with him the nobles, to make room. Soon the door opened, and in it appeared Pan Andrei, tall, straight as a poplar. The dawn was already coming, and the first pale light of day fell on his daring, knightly, and youthful face. He stopped in the door, looked boldly on the crowd of nobles, and said—
“I have trusted in you. God knows whether I have done well, but let that go. Who here is Pan Volodyovski?”
The little colonel stepped forward. “I am!” answered he.
“Oh! you are not like a giant,” said Kmita, with sarcastic reference to Volodyovski’s stature, “I expected to find a more considerable figure, though I must confess you are evidently a soldier of experience.”
“I cannot say the same of you, for you have neglected sentries. If you are the same at the sabre as at command, I shall not have work.”
“Where shall we fight?” asked Kmita, quickly.
“Here—the yard is as level as a table.”
“Agreed! Prepare for death.”
“Are you so sure?”
“It is clear that you have never been in Orsha, since you doubt. Not only am I sure, but I am sorry, for I have heard of you as a splendid soldier. Therefore I say for the last time, let me go! We do not know each other; why should we stand the one in the way of the other? Why attack me? The maiden is mine by the will, as well as this property; and God knows I am only seeking my own. It is true that I cut down the nobles in Volmontovichi, but let God decide who committed the first wrong. Whether my officers were men of violence or not, we need not discuss; it is enough that they did no harm to anyone here, and they were slaughtered to the last man because they wanted to dance with girls in a public house. Well, let blood answer blood! After that my soldiers were cut to pieces. I swear by the wounds of
