“Can I reckon on your aid?” asked Ketling.
“Rise, sir!”
“May I reckon on your aid? I am Pan Michael’s brother. An injury will be done him if this house is abandoned.”
“My wishes are nothing here,” answered Krysia, with more presence of mind, “though I must be grateful for yours.”
“I thank you!” answered Ketling, pressing her hand to his mouth.
“Ah! frost out of doors, and Cupid is naked; but he would not freeze in this house,” said Zagloba. “And I see that from sighs alone there will be a thaw,—from nothing but sighs.”
“Spare us,” said Krysia.
“I thank God that you have not lost your jovial humor,” said Ketling, “for joyousness is a sign of health.”
“And a clear conscience,” added Zagloba. “‘He grieves who is troubled,’ declares the Seer in Holy Writ. Nothing troubles me, therefore I am joyous. Oh, a hundred Turks! What do I behold? For I saw you in Polish costume with a lynx-skin cap and a sabre, and now you have changed again into some kind of Englishman, and are going around on slim legs like a stork.”
“For I have been in Courland, where the Polish dress is not worn, and have just passed two days with the English resident in Warsaw.”