“God grant him!—By God’s mercy!—Too few, too few.”
“These Hungarians are as good as two regiments, old soldiers and tried. But wait! They are lighting the matches at the cannon; it looks like a battle!”
Yan and Stanislav were silent; Zagloba was writhing as in a fever,—
“Slay the traitors! Slay the dog-brothers! Ai, Kmita! Kmita! All depends on him. Is he daring?”
“As the devil,—ready for anything.”
“It must be that he will take our side.”
“Mutiny in the army! See to what the hetman has brought things!” cried Volodyovski.
“Who is the mutineer,—the army, or the hetman who rose against his own king?” asked Zagloba.
“God will judge that. Wait! Again there is a movement! Some of Kharlamp’s dragoons take the part of the Hungarians. The very best nobles serve in that regiment. Hear how they shout!”
“The colonels! the colonels!” cried threatening voices in the yard.