The face of the little knight became as white as those flags waving in the wind.
“Ketling, do you see?” whispered he, turning to his friend.
Ketling’s face was pale also. “I see,” replied he.
And they looked into each other’s eyes for some time, uttering with them everything which two soldiers like them, without fear or reproach, had to say,—soldiers who never in life had broken their word, and who had sworn before the altar to die rather than surrender the castle. And now, after such a defence, after a struggle which recalled the days of Zbaraj, after a storm which had been repulsed, and after a victory, they were commanded to break their oath, to surrender the castle, and live.
As, not long before, hostile balls were flying over the castle, so now hostile thoughts were flying in a throng through their heads. And sorrow simply measureless pressed their hearts,—sorrow for two loved ones, sorrow for life and happiness; hence they looked at each other as if demented, as if dead, and at times they turned glances full of despair toward the town, as if wishing to be sure that their eyes were not deceiving them,—to be sure that the last hour had struck.
At that time horses’ hoofs sounded from the direction of the town; and after a while Horaim, the attendant of the starosta, rushed up to them.
“An order to the commandant!” cried he, reining in his horse.
Volodyovski took the order, read it in silence, and after a time, amid silence as of the grave, said to the officers,—
“Gracious gentlemen, commissioners have crossed the river in a boat, and have gone to Dlujek to sign conditions. After a time they will come here. Before evening we must withdraw the troops from the castle, and raise a white flag without delay.”
No one answered a word. Nothing was heard but quick breathing.