In this fashion he reached the thirty-fifth year of his age.
Kmita, standing on the threshold, examined with curiosity Boguslav’s face, which the mirror reflected, while he was arranging with seriousness the hair of his forelock; at last, when Pan Andrei coughed once and a second time, he said, without turning his head,—
“But who is present? Is it a messenger from the prince voevoda?”
“Not a messenger, but from the prince voevoda,” replied Pan Andrei.
Then the prince turned his head, and seeing a brilliant young man, recognized that he had not to do with an ordinary servant.
“Pardon, Cavalier,” said he, affably, “for I see that I was mistaken in the office of the person. But your face is known to me, though I am not able to recall your name. You are an attendant of the prince hetman?”
“My name is Kmita,” answered Pan Andrei, “and I am not an attendant; I am a colonel from the time that I brought my own squadron to the prince hetman.”
“Kmita!” cried the prince, “that same Kmita, famous in the last war, who harried Hovanski, and later on managed not worse on his own account? I have heard much about you.”
Having said this, the prince began to look more carefully and with a certain pleasure at Pan Andrei, for from what he had heard he thought him a man of his own cut.
“Sit down,” said he, “I am glad to know you more intimately. And what is to be heard in Kyedani?”