“This is a goodly drink,” said Zagloba, placing the bottle on the ground and taking the goblets. “To the health of Ketling!”
“To his health!” repeated Pan Michael. “Let us hurry!”
They emptied the glasses at a draught.
“Let us hurry,” repeated Zagloba. “Pour out, man!” said he, turning to the servant. “To the health of Pan Yan! Let us hurry!”
They emptied the goblets again at a draught, for there was real urgency.
“Let us take our seats!” cried Pan Michael.
“But will you not drink my health?” asked Zagloba, with a complaining voice.
“If quickly!”
And they drank quickly. Zagloba emptied the goblet at a breath, though there was half a quart in it, then without wiping his mustaches, he cried, “I should be thankless not to drink your health. Pour out, man!”
“With thanks!” answered Brother Yerzy.