“But you do not know,” said old Pan Novoveski, “that he is not Mellehovich, but that Azya who grew up with you.”
“In God’s name, what do I hear? Just think! Sometimes that came to my head too; but they told me that his name was Mellehovich, therefore I thought, ‘Well, he is not the man,’ Azya with the Tartars is a universal name. I had not seen him for so many years that I was not certain. Our Azya was rather ugly and short, and this one is a beauty.”
“He is ours, ours!” said old Novoveski, “or rather not ours, for do you know what has come out, whose son he is?”
“How should I know?”
“He is the son of the great Tugai Bey.”
The young man struck his powerful palms on his knees till the sound was heard through the house.
“I cannot believe my ears! Of the great Tugai Bey? If that is true, he is a prince and a relative of the Khan. There is no higher blood in the Crimea than Tugai Bey’s.”
“It is the blood of an enemy!”
“It was that in the father, but the son serves us; I have seen him myself twenty times in action. Ha! I understand now whence comes that devilish daring in him. Pan Sobieski distinguished him before the whole army, and made him a captain. I am glad from my soul to greet him,—a strong soldier; from my whole heart I will greet him.”
“But be not too familiar with him.”