“I am not afraid of the Turks,—first, because they are such sons, and secondly, they are children of Belial,” answered Zagloba.
All were silent for a while. Pan Adam sat on the bench with his palms on his knees, looking at the floor with glassy eyes.
“It must have been some consolation,” said Pan Mushalski, turning to him; “it is a great solace to accomplish a proper vengeance.”
“Tell us, has it consoled you really? Do you feel better now?” asked Basia, with a voice full of pity.
The giant was silent for a time, as if struggling with his own thoughts; at last he said, as if in great wonderment, and so quietly that he was almost whispering,—
“Imagine to yourself, as God is dear to me, I thought that I should feel better if I were to destroy him. I saw him on the stake, I saw him when his eye was bored out, I said to myself that I felt better; but it is not true, not true.”
Here Pan Adam embraced his hapless head with his hands, and said through his set teeth,—
“It was better for him on the stake, better with the auger in his eye, better with fire on his hands, than for me with that which is sitting within me, which is thinking and remembering within me. Death is my one consolation; death, death, that is the truth.”
Hearing this, Basia’s valiant and soldier heart rose quickly, and putting her hands on the head of the unfortunate man, she said,—
“God grant it to you at Kamenyets; for you say truly, it is the one consolation.”