“That is true,—is true,” added Pan Makovetski. “There is a legion of well-sweeps in Michael’s stanitsa, for there is a lack of spring water in the neighborhood. I tell you, sir, that when the soldiers begin to make those sweeps squeak at daybreak, your grace would wake up with such a will that you would thank God at once for this alone, that you were living.”
“Ah, if I could only be there for even one day!” cried Basia.
“There is one way to go there,” said Zagloba,—“marry the captain of the guard.”
“Pan Adam will be captain sooner or later,” put in the little knight.
“Indeed!” cried Basia, in anger; “I have not asked you to bring me Pan Adam instead of a present.”
“I have brought something else, nice sweetmeats. They will be sweet for Panna Basia, and it is bitter there for that poor fellow.”
“Then you should have given him the sweets; let him eat them while his mustaches are coming out.”
“Imagine to yourself,” said Zagloba to Pan Makovetski, “these two are always in that way. Luckily the proverb says, ‘Those who wrangle, end in love.’”
Basia made no reply; but Pan Michael, as if waiting for an answer, looked at her small face shone upon by the bright light. It seemed to him so shapely that he thought in spite of himself, “But that rogue is so pretty that she might destroy one’s eyes.”
Evidently something else must have come to his mind at once, for he turned to the driver and said, “Touch up the horses there with a whip, and drive faster.”