“Lady sister,” answered Pan Michael, “if you wish to send a letter to your husband, you have a chance, for I am going to Russia.”
“Is he sending you? In God’s name, do not volunteer yet, and do not go,” cried his sister, with a pitiful voice. “Will they not give you this bit of time?”
“Is your command fixed already?” asked Zagloba, gloomily. “Your sister says justly that they are threshing you as with flails.”
“Rushchyts is going to the Crimea, and I take the squadron after him; for as Pan Adam has mentioned already, the roads will surely be black (with the enemy) in spring.”
“Are we alone to guard this Commonwealth from thieves, as a dog guards a house?” cried Zagloba. “Other men do not know from which end of a musket to shoot, but for us there is no rest.”
“Never mind! I have nothing to say,” answered Pan Michael. “Service is service! I gave the hetman my word that I would go, and earlier or later it is all the same.” Here Pan Michael put his finger on his forehead and repeated the argument which he had used once with Krysia, “You see that if I put off my happiness so many years to serve the Commonwealth, with what face can I refuse to give up the pleasure which I find in your company?”
No one made answer to this; only Basia came up, with lips pouting like those of a peevish child, and said, “I am sorry for Pan Michael.”
Pan Michael laughed joyously. “God grant you happy fortune! But only yesterday you said that you could no more endure me than a wild Tartar.”
“What Tartar? I did not say that at all. You will be working there against the Tartars, and we shall be lonely here without you.”
“Oh, little haiduk, comfort yourself; forgive me for the name, but it fits you most wonderfully. The hetman informed me that my command would not last long. I shall set out in a week or two, and must be in Warsaw at the election. The hetman himself wishes me to come, and I shall be here even if Rushchyts does not return from the Crimea in May.”