“There is no harm in that. I have been in hotter places, and God saved me. Give an order for me and the two Skshetuskis. Whoso escapes first will go straight to the squadron, and bring it to rescue the others.”
“You are raving! It is a pity to lose time in empty talk! Who will escape from this place? Besides, on what can I give an order; have you paper, ink, pen? You are losing your head.”
“Desperation!” cried Zagloba; “give me even your ring.”
“Here it is, and let me have peace!”
Zagloba took the ring, put it on his little finger, and began to walk and meditate.
Meanwhile the smoking candle went out, and darkness embraced them completely; only through the grating of the high window a couple of stars were visible, twinkling in the clear sky. Zagloba’s eye did not leave the grating. “If heaven-dwelling Podbipienta were living and with us,” muttered the old man, “he would tear out that grating, and in an hour we should see ourselves beyond Kyedani.”
“But raise me to the window,” said Pan Yan, suddenly.
Zagloba and Pan Stanislav placed themselves at the wall; in a moment Yan was on their shoulders.
“It cracks! As God is dear to me, it cracks!” cried Zagloba.
“What are you talking about, father? I haven’t begun to pull it yet.”