“Pan Mellehovich is an officer of the hetman,” said Basia; “we have nothing to do with him.”
“Permit me; I will ask him. Let the other side be heard,” said the little knight.
But Pan Novoveski was furious. “Pan Mellehovich! What sort of a Pan is he?—My serving-lad, who has hidden himself under a strange name. To-morrow I’ll make my dog keeper of that Pan; the day after to-morrow I’ll give command to beat that Pan with clubs. And the hetman himself cannot hinder me; for I am a noble, and I know my rights.”
To this Pan Michael answered more sharply, and his mustaches quivered. “I am not only a noble, but a colonel, and I know my rights too. You can demand your man, by law, and have recourse to the jurisdiction of the hetman; but I command here, and no one else does.”
Pan Novoveski moderated at once, remembering that he was talking, not only to a commandant, but to his own son’s superior, and besides the most noted knight in the Commonwealth. “Pan Colonel,” said he, in a milder tone, “I will not take him against the will of your grace; but I bring forward my rights, and I beg you to believe me.”
“Mellehovich, what do you say to this?” asked Volodyovski.
The Tartar fixed his eyes on the floor, and was silent.
“That your name is Azya we all know,” added Pan Michael.
“There are other proofs to seek,” said Novoveski. “If he is my man, he has fish tattooed in blue on his breast.”
Hearing this, Pan Nyenashinyets opened his eyes widely and his mouth; then he seized himself by the head, and cried, “Azya, Tugai Beyovich!”