All became as stone from amazement, and every eye was turned to the door, in which stood some small man in armor, and with a naked sabre in his hand.
Kmita retreated a step, as if he had seen an apparition. “Pan Volodyovski!” cried he.
“At your service!” answered the little man. And he advanced into the middle of the chamber; after him entered in a crowd Mirski, Zagloba, Pan Yan, Pan Stanislav, Stankyevich, Oskyerko and Roh Kovalski.
“Ha!” cried Zagloba; “the Cossack caught a Tartar, and the Tartar holds him by the head!”
Billevich began to speak: “Whoever you are, gentlemen, save a citizen whom in spite of law, birth, and office they wish to arrest and confine. Save, brothers, the freedom of a noble, whoever you may be.”
“Fear not!” answered Volodyovski, “the dragoons of this cavalier are already in fetters, and now he needs rescue himself more than you do.”
“But a priest most of all!” added Zagloba.
“Sir Knight,” said Volodyovski, turning to Kmita, “you have no luck with me; a second time I stand in your way. You did not expect me?”
“I did not! I thought you were in the hands of the prince.”
“I have just slipped out of those hands,—this is the road to Podlyasye. But enough! The first time that you bore away this lady I challenged you to sabres, is it not true?”