The prisoners did not recognize Azya, for his face was nearly concealed; but all the more did terror seize the knees of the women at the first moment, for they judged that wild Tartars had in some incomprehensible manner destroyed the Lithuanian Tartars and gained possession of Rashkoff. But the sight of Krychinski and Adurovich convinced them that they were still in the hands of Lithuanian Tartars.
They looked at one another some time in silence; at last old Pan Novoveski asked, with an uncertain but powerful voice,—
“In whose hands are we?”
Azya began to unwind the bandages from his head, and from beneath them his face soon appeared, beautiful on a time, though wild, deformed now forever, with a broken nose and a black-and-blue spot instead of an eye,—a face dreadful, collected in cold vengeance and with a smile like convulsive contortions. He was silent for a moment, then fixed his burning eye on the old man and said,—
“In mine,—in the hands of Tugai Bey’s son.”
But old Novoveski knew him before he spoke; and Eva also knew him, though the heart was straitened in her from terror and disgust at sight of that ghastly visage. The maiden covered her eyes with her unbound hands; and the noble, opening his mouth, began to blink with astonishment and repeat,—
“Azya! Azya!”
“Whom your lordship reared, to whom you were a father, and whose back streamed with blood under your parental hand.”
Blood rushed to the noble’s head.
“Traitor,” said he, “you shall answer for your deeds before a judge. Serpent! I have a son yet.”