If you strike with will.
U-há!”
“Vivat! vivat Pan Zagloba!” cried the officers, with a mighty voice, so that the dignified Naviragh was frightened, and the two learned Anardrats were frightened, and began to look at one another with exceeding amazement.
But Pan Adam went around twice more, and seated his partner at last on the bench, panting, and astonished at the boldness of her cavalier. He was very agreeable to her, so valiant and honest, a regular conflagration; but just because she had not met such a man hitherto, great confusion seized her,—therefore, dropping her eyes still lower, she sat in silence, like a little innocent.
“Why are you silent; are you grieving for something?” asked Pan Adam.
“I am; my father is in captivity,” answered Zosia, with a thin voice.
“Never mind that,” said the young man; “it is proper to dance! Look at this room; here are some tens of officers, and most likely no one of them will die his own death, but from arrows of Pagans or in bonds,—this one to-day, that to-morrow. Each man on these frontiers has lost some one, and we make merry lest God might think that we murmur at our service. That is it. It is proper to dance. Laugh, young lady! show your eyes, for I think that you hate me!”
Zosia did not raise her eyes, it is true; but she began to raise the corners of her mouth, and two dimples were formed in her rosy cheeks.
“Do you love me a little bit?” asked he.
And Zosia, in a still lower voice, said, “Yes; but—”