“I know not,—I know not,” answered Ketling; “but I know this, that barely had the heavenly vision of her delighted my eyes when I said at once to myself that she was the one woman whom my suffering heart might love yet; and that same night I drove sleep away with sighs, and yielded myself to pleasant yearnings. Thenceforth she took possession of my being, as a queen does of an obedient and loyal country. Whether this is love or something else, I know not.”
“But you know that it is neither a cap nor three yards of cloth for trousers, nor a saddle-girth, nor a crouper, nor sausage and eggs, nor a decanter of gorailka. If you are certain of this, then ask Krysia about the rest; or if you wish, I will ask her.”
“Do not do that,” said Ketling, smiling. “If I am to drown, let it seem to me, even a couple of days yet, that I am swimming.”
“I see that the Scots are fine men in battle; but in love they are useless. Against women, as against the enemy, impetus is needful. ‘I came, I saw, I conquered!’ that was my maxim.”
“In time, if my most ardent desires are to be accomplished, perhaps I shall ask you for friendly assistance; though I am naturalized, and of noble blood, still my name is unknown here, and I am not sure that Pani Makovetski—”
“Pani Makovetski?” interrupted Zagloba. “Have no fear about her. Pani Makovetski is a regular music-box. As I wind her, so will she play. I will go at her immediately; I must forewarn her, you know, so that she may not look awry at your approaches to the young lady. To such a degree is your Scottish method one, and ours another, I will not make a declaration straightway in your name, of course; I will say only that the maiden has taken your eye, and that it would be well if from that flour there should be bread. As God is dear to me, I will go at once; have no fear, for in every case I am at liberty to say what I like.”
And though Ketling detained him, Zagloba rose and went out. On the way he met Basia, rushing along as usual, and said to her, “Do you know that Krysia has captured Ketling completely?”
“He is not the first man!” answered Basia.
“And you are not angry about it?”
“Ketling is a doll!—a pleasant cavalier, but a doll! I have struck my knee against the wagon-tongue; that is what troubles me.”