In one hand he held a lace handkerchief; in the other he carried, according to the fashion of the time, on his sword-hilt, a hat adorned with curling black ostrich feathers of uncommon length.
All, not excepting Prince Yanush, looked at him with wonder and admiration. His youthful years came to the memory of the prince voevoda, when he in the same way surpassed all at the French court with his beauty and his wealth. Those years were now far away, but it seemed at that moment to the hetman that he was living again in that brilliant cavalier who bore the same name.
Prince Yanush grew vivacious, and in passing he touched with his index finger the breast of his cousin.
“Light strikes from you as from the moon,” said he. “Is it not for Panna Billevich that you are so arrayed?”
“The moon enters easily everywhere,” answered Boguslav, boastingly.
And then he began to talk with Ganhoff, near whom he halted, perhaps of purpose to exhibit himself the better, for Ganhoff was a man marvellously ugly; he had a face dark and pitted with small-pox, a nose like the beak of a hawk, and mustaches curled upward. He looked like the spirit of darkness, but Boguslav near him like the spirit of light.
The ladies entered,—Pani Korf and Olenka. Boguslav cast a swift glance at Olenka, and bowed promptly to Pani Korf; he was just putting his fingers to his mouth, to send in cavalier fashion a kiss to Panna Billevich, when he saw her exquisite beauty, both proud and dignified. He changed his tactics in an instant, caught his hat in his right hand, and advancing toward the lady bowed so low that he almost bent in two; the curls of his wig fell on both sides of his shoulders, his sword took a position parallel with the floor, and he remained thus, moving purposely his cap and sweeping the floor in front of Olenka with the ostrich feather, in sign of respect. A more courtly homage he could not have given to the Queen of France. Panna Billevich, who had learned of his coming, divined at once who stood before her; therefore seizing her robe with the tips of her fingers, she gave him in return a courtesy equally profound.
All wondered at the beauty and grace of manners of the two, which was evident from the greeting itself,—grace not over usual in Kyedani, for, as a Wallachian, Yanush’s princess was more in love with eastern splendor than with courtliness, and Yanush’s daughter was still a little girl.
Boguslav now raised his head, shook the curls of his wig over his shoulders, and striking his heels together with force, moved quickly toward Olenka; at the same time he threw his hat to a page and gave her his hand.
“I do not believe my eyes, and see as it were in a dream what I see,” said he, conducting her to the table; “but tell me, beautiful goddess, by what miracle you have descended from Olympus to Kyedani?”