When Kmita entered, the prince also was dressed, attended by two negroes; he was about to leave the room. The prince and Pan Andrei remained face to face.
“God give you health for hurrying!” said the hetman.
“At the service of your highness.”
“But the squadron?”
“According to order.”
“The men are reliable?”
“They will go into fire, to hell.”
“That is good! I need such men,—and such as you, equal to anything. I repeat continually that on no one more than you do I count.”
“Your highness, my services cannot equal those of old soldiers; but if we have to march against the enemy of the country, God sees that I shall not be in the rear.”
“I do not diminish the services of the old,” said the prince, “though there may come such perils, such grievous junctures, that the most faithful will totter.”