“It is good?”
“Neither good nor bad, but that we have guests. An enormous court arrived here to-day, and stopped at the starosta’s house. There is a regiment of infantry, and what crowds of cavalry and carriages with servants!—The people thought that the king himself had come.”
“What king?”
The innkeeper began to turn his cap in his hand. “It is true that we have two kings now, but neither one came,—only the prince marshal.”
Kmita sprang to his feet. “What prince marshal? Prince Boguslav?”
“Yes, your grace; the cousin of the prince voevoda of Vilna.”
Pan Andrei clapped his hands from astonishment. “And so we have met.”
The innkeeper, understanding that his guest was an acquaintance of Prince Boguslav, made a lower bow than the day before, and went out of the room; but Kmita began to dress in haste, and an hour later was before the house of the starosta.
The whole place was swarming with soldiers. The infantry were stacking their muskets on the square; the cavalry had dismounted and occupied the houses at the side. The soldiers and attendants in the most varied costumes had halted before the houses, or were walking along the streets. From the mouths of the officers were to be heard French and German. Nowhere a Polish soldier, nowhere a Polish uniform; the musketeers and dragoons were dressed in strange fashion, different, indeed, from the foreign squadrons which Pan Andrei had seen in Kyedani, for they were not in German but in French style. The soldiers, handsome men and so showy that each one in the ranks might be taken for an officer, delighted the eyes of Pan Andrei. The officers looked on him also with curiosity, for he had arrayed himself richly in velvet and brocade, and six men, dressed in new uniforms, followed him as a suite.
Attendants, all dressed in French fashion, were hurrying about in front of the starosta’s house; there were pages in caps and feathers, armor-bearers in velvet kaftans, and equerries in Swedish, high, wide-legged boots.