"No," said the priest, shaking his head. "We remarked immediately from the letter that it was written at her instigation. I remember that perfectly, and I could repeat to your grace every word of it."
"I, too, remember, but we could not know what Pan Gideon had told her, and how he described Yatsek's deeds to the lady. The Bukoyemskis, for example, confessed to me, that meeting her and Pan Gideon while travelling to Prityk they said purposely, that Yatsek went away after great stirrup cups, laughing, gladsome, and uncommonly curious about the daughter of Pan Zbierhovski to whom you had given him a letter."
"Here they lied! And what for?"
"Well, they lied to show the girl and Pan Gideon that Yatsek had no thought for them. But note this, your grace, if the Bukoyemskis spoke thus out of friendship for Yatsek, what must Pan Gideon have said out of hatred."
"It is sure that he did not spare Yatsek. Still, even if she were less to blame than we imagine, tell me what of that? Yatsek has gone, and perhaps will never come back to us, for I know that he will spare his life less than Pan Gideon spared his reputation."
"Yatsek would have gone in every case," answered Pan Serafin.
"And if he does not return I will not tear the soutane on my body. A death in defence of the country and fighting Mohammedan vileness is a worthy end for a Christian knight, and a worthy end for a great family. But I will add one thing: I should have preferred to see him go without that painful dart which is sticking in him."
"Neither had my only son special happiness in life; he too went, and perhaps will not return to me."
They grew thoughtful, for their souls were filled with love for those young men.
Tvorkovski, the prelate, came upon them while thoughtful, and learned that they had been talking of Panna Sieninski.