“I am not a friend of the ex-king,” said Yanush; “but if the noble had made me a proposal like that, I should have placed him by a wall, and in front of him six musketeers.”
“At the first moment I wanted to do so, but did not,” answered Boguslav, “as the conversation was with four eyes, and people might cry out against the violence and tyranny of the Radzivills. I frightened him, however, by saying that Radzeyovski and the King of Sweden, even Hmelnitski, would put him to death for such a proposal; in one word, I brought that criminal so far that he abandoned his plan.”
“That was not right; it was not proper to let him go living, he deserved at least the impaling-stake,” cried Korf.
Boguslav turned suddenly to Yanush.
“I cherish also the hope that punishment will not miss him, and first I propose that he perish not by an ordinary death; but your highness alone is able to punish him, for he is your attendant and your colonel.”
“In God’s name! my colonel? Who is he,—who? Speak!
“His name is Kmita,” said Boguslav.
“Kmita!” repeated all, with astonishment.
“That is not true!” cried Panna Billevich at once, rising from her chair, with flashing eyes and heaving breast.
Deep silence followed. Some had not recovered yet from the fearful news given by Boguslav; others were astonished at the boldness of that lady who had dared to throw a lie in the eyes of Prince Boguslav; the sword-bearer began to stutter, “Olenka! Olenka!” But Boguslav veiled his face in sorrow, and said without anger,—