“I have no means of knowing.”
“Well, because the country was in need, in humiliation, because the terrible Hmelnitski was triumphing, he did not go to seek the girl. He offered his suffering to God, and fought under Prince Yeremi in all the battles, including Zbaraj, and covered himself with such glory that to-day all repeat his name with respect. Compare his action with your own and see the difference.”
Kmita was silent, gnawed his mustache. Volodyovski continued,—
“Then God rewarded and gave him the maiden. They married immediately after Zbaraj, and now have three children, though he has not ceased to serve. But you by making disturbance have given aid to the enemy and almost lost your own life, not to mention that a few days ago you might have lost the lady forever.”
“How is that?” asked Kmita, sitting up in the bed; “what happened to her?”
“Nothing; but there was found a man who asked for her hand and wanted to marry her.”
Kmita grew very pale; his hollow eyes began to shoot flames. He wanted to rise, even struggled for a moment; then cried, “Who was this devil’s son? By the living God, tell me!”
“I,” said Pan Volodyovski.
“You,—you?” asked Kmita, with astonishment, “Is it possible?”
“It is.”