“Volodyovski and the other three must lose their heads,” said he, with a loud voice.
But to speak thus was to throw powder on fire.
“If I had not dispersed the Hungarians, these are not the men who had lost their heads,” shouted Kmita.
“How is this? Are you renouncing my service already?” asked the hetman, threateningly.
“Your highness,” answered Pan Andrei, with passion, “I am not renouncing; I am begging, imploring. But the harm will not happen. These men are famous in all Poland. It cannot be, it cannot be! I will not be a Judas to Volodyovski. I will follow your highness into fire, but refuse not this favor.”
“But if I refuse?”
“Then give command to shoot me; I will not live! May thunderbolts split me! May devils take me living to hell!”
“Remember, unfortunate, before whom you are speaking.”
“Bring me not to desperation, your highness.”
“To a prayer I may give ear, but a threat I will not consider.”