“Justly, justly!” answered Zagloba, blinking his sound eye with a certain impatience. “No longer ago than yesterday Pan Sobieski, the hetman, said: ‘Only let Volodyovski serve even through this one storm, and then let him go to whatever cloister he likes. God would not be angry for the deed; on the contrary, such a monk would have all the greater merit.’ But there is no reason to wonder that you put your own peace above the happiness of the country, for prima charitas ab ego (the first love is of self).”
A long interval of silence followed; only Pan Michael’s mustaches stood out somewhat and began to move quickly, though lightly.
“You have not taken your vows yet,” asked Zagloba, at last, “and you can go out at any moment?”
“I am not a monk yet, for I have been waiting for the favor of God, and waiting till all painful thoughts of earth should leave my soul. His favor is upon me now; peace is returning to me. I can go out; but I have no wish to go, since the time is drawing near in which I can make my vows with a clear conscience and free from earthly desires.”
“I have no wish to lead you away from this; on the contrary, I applaud your resolution, though I remember that when Yan in his time intended to become a monk, he waited till the country was free from the storm of the enemy. But do as you wish. In truth, it is not I who will lead you away; for I myself in my own time felt a vocation for monastic life. Fifty years ago I even began my novitiate; I am a rogue if I did not. Well, God gave me another direction. Only I tell you this, Michael, you must go out with me now even for two days.”
“Why must I go out? Leave me in peace!” said Volodyovski.
Zagloba raised the skirt of his coat to his eyes and began to sob. “I do not beg rescue for myself,” said he, in a broken voice, “though Prince Boguslav Radzivill is hunting me with vengeance; he puts his murderers in ambush against me, and there is no one to defend and protect me, old man. I was thinking that you— But never mind! I will love you all my life, even if you are unwilling to know me. Only pray for my soul, for I shall not escape Boguslav’s hands. Let that come upon me which has to come; but another friend of yours, who shared every morsel of bread with you, is now on his death-bed, and wishes to see you without fail. He is unwilling to die without you; for he has some confession to make on which his soul’s peace depends.”
Pan Michael, who had heard of Zagloba’s danger with great emotion, sprang forward now, and seizing him by the arms, inquired, “Is it Pan Yan?”
“No, not Yan, but Ketling!”
“For God’s sake! what has happened to him?”