They appeared at Yedlinka one evening, with sabres, it is true, but with not very sound boots, and with torn coats on their bodies. They had such woe-be-gone faces that, if Pan Serafin had not for some time been expecting them, he would have been terribly frightened, and would have thought that news of his son's death had come with them.
The four brothers embraced his knees, and kissed his hands straightway; he, looking at their misery, dropped his arms at his sides in amazement.
"Stashko wrote," said he, "that it had gone ill with you, but this is terrible!"
"We have sinned, benefactor!" answered Marek, beating his breast.
The other brothers repeated his words.
"We have sinned, we have sinned, we have sinned!"
"Tell me how, and in what. How is Stashko? He has written me that he saved you. What happened?"
"Stashko is well, benefactor; he and Pan Yatsek are as bright as two suns."
"Glory to God! glory to God! Thanks for the good news. Have you no letter?"
"He wrote, but did not give us the letter. It might be lost," said he.