"Meanwhile an answer is needed," said Father Voynovski, "and immediately."
For a time yet they considered as to who should write,--Yatsek, at whom the letter was aimed, or the priest to whom it was directed. Yatsek settled the question by saying,--
"For me that whole house and all people in it are as if dead, and it is well for them that in my soul this is settled."
"It is well that the bridges are burnt!" said the priest; as he sought pen and paper.
"It is well that the bridges are burnt," repeated Yan Bukoyemski, "but it would be better that the mansion rose in smoke! This was our way in the Ukraine: when some strange man came in and knew not how to live with us, we cut him to pieces and up in smoke went his property."
No one turned attention to these words save Pan Serafin, who waved his hands with impatience, and answered,--
"You, gentlemen, came in here from the Ukraine, I, from Lvoff, and Pan Gideon from Pomorani; according to your wit Pan Tachevski might count us all as intruders; but know this, that the Commonwealth is a great mansion occupied by a family of nobles, and a noble is at home in every corner."
Silence followed, except that from the alcove came the squeaking of a pen and words in an undertone which the priest was dictating to himself. Yatsek rested his forehead on his palms and sat motionless for some time; all at once he straightened himself, looked at those present, and said,--
"There is something in this beyond my understanding."
"We do not understand, either," added Lukash, "but if thou wilt pour out more mead we will drink it."