Zagloba meditated for a short time, and then said,—
“A fitting vengeance will not miss that arch hound, I promise you that; and he would surely prefer to have his grace, the king, swear vengeance against him than to have Zagloba do it. But it is not known whether he is alive yet; for the lady, in tearing herself out of his hands, struck him with the butt of her pistol right in the brain. But this is not the time to think of him, for first we must save the lady.”
“We should be glad to do it, even with our own lives,” answered Lusnia.
And the crowd muttered again in support of the sergeant.
“Listen to me,” said Zagloba. “In Kamenyets lives a doctor named Rodopul. You will go to him; you will tell him that the starosta of Podolia has sprained his leg at this place and is waiting for rescue. And if he is outside the wall, seize him, put him on a horse, or into a bag, and bring him to Hreptyoff without stopping. I will give command to have horses disposed at short distances apart, and you will go at a gallop. Only be careful to bring him alive, for we have no business with dead doctors.”
A mutter of satisfaction was heard on every side; Lusnia moved his stern mustaches and said,—
“I will bring him surely, and I will not lose him till we come to Hreptyoff.”
“Move on!”
“I pray your grace—”
“What more?”