“Not like us,” groaned Ranitski.
“Let us drink for our solace,” said Rekuts.
“No, not for our solace,” answered Kulvyets-Hippocentaurus, “but once more to the health of Yendrus, our beloved captain. It is he, my mighty lords, who has given here in Lyubich an asylum to us poor exiles without a roof above our heads.”
“He speaks justly,” cried a number of voices; “Kulvyets is not so stupid as he seems.”
“Hard is our lot,” piped Rekuts. “Our whole hope is that you will not drive us poor orphans out through your gates.”
“Give us peace,” said Kmita; “what is mine is yours.”
With that all rose from their places and began to take him by the shoulders. Tears of tenderness flowed over those stern drunken faces.
“In you is all our hope, Yendrus,” cried Kokosinski, “Let us sleep even on pea straw; drive us not forth.”
“Give us peace,” repeated Kmita.
“Drive us not forth; as it is, we have been driven,—we nobles and men of family,” said Uhlik, plaintively.