“He says that he is a Lithuanian Tartar; but it is a wonder to me that none of the Lithuanian Tartars knew him before, though he serves in their squadron. From this come stories of his uncertain origin, which his lofty manners have not been able to prevent. But he is a good soldier, though sullen. At Bratslav and Kalnik he rendered great service, for which the hetman made him captain, though he was the youngest man in the squadron. The Tartars love him greatly, but he has no consideration among us, and why? Because he is very sullen, and, as you say, has the look of a wolf.”
“If he is a great soldier and has shed blood,” said Basia, “it is proper to admit him to our society, which my husband in his letter does not forbid.” Here she turned to Pan Snitko: “Does your grace permit it?”
“I am the servant of my benefactress,” said Snitko.
Basia vanished through the door; and Zagloba, drawing a deep breath, asked Pan Snitko, “Well, and how does the colonel’s wife please you?”
The old soldier, instead of an answer, put his fists to his eyes, and bending in the chair, repeated, “Ai! ai! ai!” Then he stared, covered his mouth with his broad palm, and was silent, as if ashamed of his own enthusiasm.
“Sweet cakes, isn’t she?” asked Zagloba.
Meanwhile “sweet cakes” appeared in the door, conducting Mellehovich, who was as frightened as a wild bird, and saying to him, “From my husband’s letter and from Pan Snitko we have heard so much of your manful deeds that we are glad to know you more intimately. We ask you to our society, and the table will be laid presently.”
“I pray you to come nearer,” said Zagloba.
The sullen but handsome face of the young Tartar did not brighten altogether, but it was evident that he was thankful for the good reception, and because he was not commanded to remain in the servants’ quarters. Basia endeavored of purpose to be kind to him, for with a woman’s heart she guessed easily that he was suspicious and proud, that the chagrin which beyond doubt he had to bear often by reason of his uncertain descent pained him acutely. Not making, therefore, between him and Snitko any difference save that enjoined by Snitko’s riper age, she inquired of the young captain touching those services owing to which he had received promotion at Kalnik. Zagloba, divining Basia’s wish, spoke to him also frequently enough; and he, though at first rather distant in bearing, gave fitting answers, and his manners not only did not betray a vulgar man, but were even astonishing through a certain courtliness.
“That cannot be peasant blood, for not such would the spirit be,” thought Zagloba to himself. Then he inquired aloud, “In what parts does your father live?”