"True, this is a splendid idea! Take them to Cracow; there the regiments will assemble. As I live I will go with you! Thus we shall see our boys, and come back with more pleasantness."
At this Pan Serafin laughed, and said,--
"Your grace will come back alone."
"How is that?"
"I am going myself to the war."
"Do you wish to serve again in the army?" asked Father Voynovski, in astonishment.
"Yes, and no; for it is one thing to go to the army and make a career out of service, and another to go on a single expedition. Of course, I am old, but older than I have gone to the ranks more than once in reply to Gradiva's trumpet. I have sent my only son, that is true, but it is not possible to yield up too much for the country. Thus did my fathers think, therefore, that Mother showed them the greatest honor at her disposal. Hence my last copper coin, and my last drop of blood are now ready to be sacrificed for her sake! Should it come to die--think, your grace, what nobler death, what greater happiness could meet me? A man must die once, and is there not greater pleasure in dying on the field of glory, at the side of one's son, than in bed; to die from a sabre or a bullet than from sickness; in addition fighting against pagans for the faith and the country?"
Then Pan Serafin, moved by his own words, opened his arms and repeated,--
"God grant this! God grant this!"
Then Father Voynovski took him in his arms, and pressing him, said,--