“That is a brave knight,” said the prince, “but he is beginning to manage me too soon.”
Having said this, he beckoned to Colonel Ganhoff and whispered something in his ear.
Zagloba meanwhile, delighted with himself, went to the lower halls with solemn tread, having with him Volodyovski, with Yan and Stanislav Skshetuski.
“Well, friends, I have barely appeared and have roused love for the country in those nobles. It will be easier now for the prince to send off the envoys with nothing, for all he has to do is to call upon us. That will not be, I think, without reward, though it is more a question of honor with me. Why have you halted, Michael, as if turned to stone, with eyes fixed on that carriage at the gate?”
“That is she!” said Volodyovski, with twitching mustaches. “By the living God, that is she herself!”
“Who?”
“Panna Billevich.”
“She who refused you?”
“The same. Look, gentlemen, look! Might not a man wither away from regret?”
“Wait a minute!” said Zagloba, “we must have a closer look.”