“It was, for the squadrons mutinied against Yan Kazimir, and the nobles declared that they would stand in line, but would not fight. Still it was shown that the Swedes are no better in the field than the quarter soldiers. Only let there be one or two victories and their courage may change. Let money come to Yan Kazimir to pay wages, and the troops will not mutiny. Pototski has not many men, but they are sternly disciplined and as resolute as hornets. The Tartars will come with Pototski, but the elector will not move with his reinforcement.”
“How is that?”
“Boguslav and I concluded that he would enter at once into a league with the Swedes and with us, for we know how to measure his love for the Commonwealth. He is too cautious, however, and thinks only of his own interest. He is waiting to see what will happen; meanwhile he is entering into a league, but with the Prussian towns, which remain faithful to Yan Kazimir. I think that in this there will be treason of some kind, unless the elector is not himself, or doubts Swedish success altogether. But until all this is explained, the league stands against Sweden; and let the Swedes stumble in Little Poland, Great Poland and Mazovia will rise, the Prussians will go with them, and it may come to pass—” Here the prince shuddered as if terrified at his supposition.
“What may come to pass?” asked Kmita.
“That not a Swedish foot will go out of the Commonwealth,” answered the prince, gloomily.
Kmita frowned and was silent.
“Then,” continued the hetman, in a low voice, “our fortune will have fallen as low as before it was high.”
Pan Andrei, springing from his seat, cried with sparkling eyes and flushed face: “What is this? Why did your highness say not long ago that the Commonwealth was lost,—that only in league with the Swedes, through the person and future reign of your highness, could it possibly be saved? What have I to believe,—what I heard then, or what I hear now? If what your highness says to-day is true, why do we hold with the Swedes, instead of beating them?—and the soul laughs at the thought of this.”
Radzivill looked sternly at Kmita. “You are over bold!” said he.
But Kmita was careering on his own enthusiasm as on a horse. “Speak later of what kind of man I am; but now answer my question, your highness.”