“And Kamenyets?”
The commissioners dropped their heads: “Goes to the Sultan forever.”
The commissioners took their way, not toward the bridge, for throngs of people had blocked the road, but toward the southern gate at the side. When they had descended, they sat in the boat which was to go to the Polish gate. In the low place lying along the river between the cliffs, the janissaries began to appear. Greater and greater streams of people flowed from the town, and occupied the place opposite the old bridge. Many wished to run to the castle; but the outgoing regiments restrained them, at command of the little knight.
When Volodyovski had mustered the troops, he called Pan Mushalski and said to him,—
“Old friend, do me one more service. Go this moment to my wife, and tell her from me—” Here the voice stuck in the throat of the little knight for a while. “And say to her from me—” He halted again, and then added quickly, “This life is nothing!”
The bowman departed. After him the troops went out gradually. Pan Michael mounted his horse and watched over the march. The castle was evacuated slowly, because of the rubbish and fragments which blocked the way.
Ketling approached the little knight. “I will go down,” said he, fixing his teeth.
“Go! but delay till the troops have marched out. Go!”
Here they seized each other in an embrace which lasted some time. The eyes of both were gleaming with an uncommon radiance. Ketling rushed away at last toward the vaults.
Pan Michael took the helmet from his head. He looked awhile yet on the ruin, on that field of his glory, on the rubbish, the corpses, the fragments of walls, on the breastwork, on the guns; then raising his eyes, he began to pray. His last words were, “Grant her, O Lord, to endure this patiently; give her peace!”