“Yes.”
Kovalski seized himself by the head. “Jesus of Nazareth! King of the Jews!”
After a while he shouted, “Give here that dog-faith, that son of a such a one who gave him the horse!”
“Pan Commandant, the soldier is not to blame. The night was dark, you might have struck a man in the face, and he took your helmet and cloak; rode near me, and I did not know him. If your grace had not sat in the wagon, he could not have done it.”
“Kill me, kill me!” cried the unfortunate officer.
“What is to be done?”
“Kill him, catch him!”
“That cannot be done in any way. He is on your horse,—the best horse; ours are terribly road-weary. He fled at the first cock-crow; we cannot overtake him.”
“Hunt for a wind in the field!” said Stankyevich.
Kovalski, in a rage, turned to the prisoners. “You helped him to escape! I will—”