Some kind of internal voice told him in that moment, “Serve the country, vengeance afterward.”
Pan Andrei’s eyes were flaming, his lips were baked, and he trembled as in a fever; he waved his hands, and talking with himself aloud, walked, or rather ran, through the room, kicked the bed with his feet; at last he threw himself once more on his knees.
“Inspire me, O Christ, what to do, lest I fall into frenzy.”
At that moment came the report of a gun, which the forest echo threw from pine-tree to pine-tree till it brought it like thunder to the cabin.
Kmita sprang up, and seizing his sabre ran out.
“What is that?” asked he of the soldier standing at the threshold.
“A shot, Colonel.”
“Where is Soroka?”
“He went to look for the letters.”
“In what direction was the shot?”