“May the Most High God have mercy! She is sleeping! Some hope is entering me—Uf!”
And they sighed deeply in like manner. Then they gathered around Zagloba in a close circle and began to inquire,—
“For God’s sake, how did it happen? What happened? How did she escape on foot?”
“At first she did not escape on foot,” whispered Zagloba, “but with two horses, for she threw that dog from his saddle,—may the plague slay him!”
“I cannot believe my ears!”
“She struck him with the butt of a pistol between the eyes; and as they were some distance behind no one saw them, and no one pursued. The wolves ate one horse, and the other was drowned under the ice. O Merciful Christ! She went, the poor thing, alone through forests, without eating, without drinking.”
Here Pan Zagloba burst out crying again, and stopped his narrative for a time; the officers too sat down on benches, filled with wonder and horror and pity for the woman who was loved by all.
“When she came near Hreptyoff,” continued Zagloba, after a while, “she did not know the place, and was preparing to die; just then she heard the squeak of the well-sweeps, knew that she was near us, and dragged herself home with her last breath.”
“God guarded her in such straits,” said Pan Motovidlo, wiping his moist mustaches. “He will guard her further.”
“It will be so! You have touched the point,” whispered a number of voices.