“One was Pan Deyma, the other Pan Ubysh. Both worthy men and fellow-soldiers—”
“Oi, oi, oi!” said Zagloba, gloomily. “We trust in the mercy of God that it will not come true this time; but if it does, Ketling will be the corpse.”
“Misfortune!” said Makovetski, after a moment of silence. “Yes, yes! Deyma and Ubysh. I remember it as if to-day. And it was a question also of a woman.”
“Eternally those women! The first daw that comes will brew such beer for you that whoever drinks will not digest it,” muttered Zagloba.
“Don’t attack Krysia, sir!” cried Basia, suddenly.
“Oh, if Pan Michael had only fallen in love with you, none of this would have happened!”
Thus conversing, they reached the house. Their hearts beat on seeing lights in the windows, for they thought that Pan Michael had returned, perhaps. But Pani Makovetski alone received them; she was alarmed and greatly concerned. On learning that all their searching had resulted in nothing, she covered herself with bitter tears and began to complain that she should never see her brother again. Basia seconded her at once in these lamentations. Zagloba too was unable to master his grief.
“I will go again to-morrow before daylight, but alone,” said he; “I may be able to learn something.”
“We can search better in company,” put in Makovetski.
“No; let your grace remain with the ladies. If Ketling is alive, I will let you know.”