“Too much favor,” said both; “we have something else to do.”
Kmita looked on them with a peculiar expression, and then said coldly, as if speaking to some fourth person, “When the prince invites, it is not permitted to refuse.”
At that they rose from their chairs.
“But is that constraint?” asked the sword-bearer.
“Pan Billevich, my benefactor,” answered Kmita, quickly, “those gentlemen will go whether they wish or not, for thus it has pleased me; but I desire not to use force with you, and I beg most sincerely that you will deign to gratify the prince. I am on service, and have an order to bring you; but as long as I do not lose hope of effecting something with entreaty, I shall not cease to entreat,—and I swear to you that not a hair will fall from your head while there. The prince wishes to talk with you, and wishes you to live in Kyedani during these troubled times, when even peasants collect in crowds and plunder. This is the whole affair! You will be treated with fitting respect in Kyedani, as a guest and a friend; I give my word of honor for that.”
“As a noble, I protest,” said the sword-bearer, “and the law protects me.”
“And sabres!” cried Hudzynski and Dovgird.
Kmita laughed, frowned, and said, “Put away your sabres, gentlemen, or I shall give the order to place you both against the barn and put a bullet into the head of each one of you.”
At this they grew timid, and began to look at each other and at Kmita; but the sword-bearer cried,—
“The most outrageous violence against the freedom of nobles, against privileges!”