"I wish your evil-faced Crown Prince were here, too," he said, as fast as he could, lest the Prussian strike him down before he spoke his mind. "I'll tell that son of the Anti-Christ what none of his sycophants dare speak of----"
"Some of your Polish plots again?"
"No plots, but the vengeance of the Almighty. Hell-fires await him and his friends for all the deviltries you----"
Strong hands were round the thin throat; Father Constantine felt his last moment had come. But there arose a great noise and shouting outside. Von Senborn threw down his victim, as you would cast off a cat whose claws have been cut, and rushed into the garden. He suspected treachery. Father Constantine picked himself up and followed. There were things he wanted to tell him yet, things which had lain heavy on his soul for many a long day.
He was in the garden, surrounded by bawling troopers, who were very excited. Four of them held two Cossacks. Two of them held Ian. Vanda was there, too; she rushed up to the priest; she was in tears.
"Oh, Father, they've arrested him ... and he knows nothing about it."
"About what?"
"These Cossacks. They were hiding in one of the lofts. They had matches. He says"--she indicated von Senborn--"they were going to burn the troopers as they slept."
"Found any more?" von Senborn asked some men who came up now.
"Not one."