“Where is your grace going?” asked old Pakosh, who was sitting on the railing.
“Where am I going? It is proper for me to go and inquire after the health of your lady; if not, she might think me rude.”
“From your grace there is a blaze like fire. Every bulfinch is a fool in comparison! Unless the lady is without eyes, she will fall in love in a minute.”
Just then the two youngest daughters of Pakosh hurried up on their way home from the forenoon milking, each with a pail of milk. When they saw Volodyovski they stood as if fixed to the earth from wonder.
“Is it a king or not?” asked Zonia.
“Your grace is like one going to a wedding,” added Marysia.
“Maybe there will be a wedding,” laughed old Pakosh, “for he is going to see our lady.”
Before the old man had stopped speaking the full pail dropped from the hand of Marysia, and a stream of milk flowed along till it reached the feet of Volodyovski.
“Pay attention to what you are holding!” said Pakosh, angrily. “Giddy thing!”
Marysia said nothing; she raised the pail and walked off in silence.
Volodyovski mounted his horse; his two servants followed him, riding abreast, and the three moved on toward Vodokty. The day was beautiful. The May sun played on the breastplate and helmet of the colonel, so that when at a distance he was gleaming among the willows it seemed that another sun was pushing along the road.
“I am curious to know whether I shall come back with a ring or a melon?” said the knight to himself.
“What is your grace saying?” asked Syruts.
“Thou art a blockhead!”
Syruts reined in his horse, and Volodyovski continued: “The whole luck of the matter is that it is not the first time!”
This idea gave him uncommon comfort.
When he arrived at Vodokty, Panna Aleksandra did not recognize him at the first moment, and he had to repeat his name. She greeted him heartily, but ceremoniously and with a certain constraint; but he presented himself befittingly—for though a soldier, not a courtier, he had still lived long at great houses, had been among people. He bowed to her therefore with great respect, and placing his hand on his heart spoke as follows:—
“I have come to inquire about the health of my lady benefactress, whether some pain has not come from the fright. I ought to have done this the day after, but I did not wish to give annoyance.”
“It is very kind of you to keep me in mind after having saved me from such straits. Sit down, for you are a welcome guest.”
“My lady,” replied Volodyovski, “had I forgotten you I should not have deserved the favor which God sent when he permitted me to give aid to so worthy a person.”
“No, I ought to thank first God, and then you.”
“Then let us both thank; for I implore nothing else than this—that he grant me to defend you as often as need comes.”
Pan Michael now moved his waxed mustaches, which curled up higher than his nose, for he was satisfied with himself for having gone straight in medias res and placed his sentiments, so to speak, on the table. She sat embarrassed and silent, but beautiful as a spring day. A slight flush came on her cheeks, and she covered her eyes with the long lashes from which shadows fell on the pupils.
“That confusion is a good sign,” thought Volodyovski; and coughing he proceeded: “You know, I suppose, that I led the Lauda men after your grandfather?”
“I know,” answered Olenka. “My late grandfather was unable to make the last campaign, but he was wonderfully glad when he heard whom the voevoda of Vilna had appointed to the command, and said that he knew you by reputation as a splendid soldier.”
“Did he say that?”
“I myself heard how he praised you to the skies, and how the Lauda men did the same after the campaign.”
“I am a simple soldier, not worthy of being exalted to the skies, nor above other men. Still I rejoice that I am not quite a stranger, for you do not think now that an unknown and uncertain guest has fallen with the last rain from the clouds. Many people are wandering about who call themselves persons of high family and say they are in office, and God knows who they are; perhaps often they are not even nobles.”
Pan Volodyovski gave the conversation this turn with the intent to speak of himself and of what manner of man he was. Olenka answered at once—
“No one would think that of you, for there are nobles of the same name in Lithuania.”
“But they have the seal Ossorya, while I am a Korchak Volodyovski and we take our origin from Hungary from a certain noble, Atylla, who while pursued by his enemies made a vow to the Most Holy Lady that he would turn from Paganism to the Catholic faith if he should escape with his life. He kept this vow after he had crossed three rivers in safety—the same rivers that we bear on our shield.”
“Then your family is not from those parts?”
“No, my lady, I am from the Ukraine of the Russian Volodyovskis, and to this time I own villages there which the enemy have occupied; but I serve in the army from youth, thinking less of land than of the harm inflicted on our country by strangers. I have served from the earliest years with the voevoda of Rus, our not sufficiently lamented Prince Yeremi, with whom I have been in all his wars. I was at Mahnovka and at Konstantinoff; I endured the hunger of Zbaraj, and after Berestechko our
