"Pour vodka into his mouth. Let him regain consciousness, and be taken to bed."
There was hurry and disorder. Some ran to make the bed ready, others for hot water, still others for vodka; a number began to pull the feathers off Martsian, in which they were aided by his father, who was gritting his teeth, and repeating,--
"Is he alive? Is he dead? He is alive! Vengeance! Oh Vengeance!"
Then he sprang up on a sudden, jumped forward, and thrusting up to the very eyes of Pan Serafin, fingers, bent now like talons, he shouted,--
"You were in the conspiracy! You have killed my son--you Armenian assassin!"
Pan Serafin grew very pale, and seized his sabre, but almost at the same instant he remembered that he was the host, and Krepetski a visitor, so he dropped the hilt, and raised two fingers immediately.
"By that God who is above us," said he, "I swear that I knew nothing--and I am ready to swear on the cross in addition--Amen!"
"We are witnesses that he knew nothing!" cried Marek Bukoyemski.
"God has punished," said Pan Serafin; "for you threatened me, as a defenceless old man, with the passion of your son. Here is his passion for you!"
"A criminal offence!" bellowed the old man. "The headsman against you, and your heads under the sword edge! Vengeance! Justice!"