“What was in Michael’s head that he did not make sure before departing?” asked Pan Makovetski. “As he left matters, something worse might have happened; another might have won the girl’s heart in his absence.”
“In that case, she would not have chosen the cloister at once,” said Pani Makovetski. “However, she is free.”
“True!” answered Makovetski.
But already it was dawning in Zagloba’s head. If the secret of Krysia and Pan Michael had been known to him, all would have been clear to him at once; but without that knowledge it was really hard to understand anything. Still, the quick wit of the man began to break through the mist, and to divine the real reason and intention of Krysia and the despair of Pan Michael. After a while he felt sure that Ketling was involved in what had happened. His supposition lacked only certainty; he determined, therefore, to go to Michael and examine him more closely. On the road alarm seized him, for he thought thus to himself,—
“There is much of my work in this. I wanted to quaff mead at the wedding of Basia and Michael; but I am not sure that instead of mead, I have not provided sour beer, for now Michael will return to his former decision, and imitating Krysia, will put on the habit.”
Here a chill came on Zagloba; so he hastened his steps, and in a moment was in Pan Michael’s room. The little knight was pacing up and down like a wild beast in a cage. His forehead was terribly wrinkled, his eyes glassy; he was suffering dreadfully. Seeing Zagloba, he stopped on a sudden before him, and placing his hands on his breast, cried,—
“Tell me the meaning of all this!”
“Michael!” said Zagloba, “consider how many girls enter convents each year; it is a common thing. Some go in spite of their parents, trusting that the Lord Jesus will be on their side; but what wonder in this case, when the girl is free?”
“There is no longer any secret!” cried Pan Michael. “She is not free, for she promised me her love and hand before I left here.”
“Ha!” said Zagloba; “I did not know that.”