“Have you considered how he writes to me: ‘Correct yourself, and I will forgive you,’ as a lord to an underling.”
“He would write differently if six thousand sabres were hanging over his neck.”
“Still—” Here Prince Yanush fell to thinking gloomily.
“Still, what?”
“Perhaps for the country it would be salvation to do as Sapyeha advises.”
“But for you,—for me, for the Radzivills?”
Yanush made no answer; he dropped his head on his fists and thought.
“Let it be so!” said he, at last; “let it be accomplished!”
“What have you decided?”
“To-morrow I march on Podlyasye, and in a week I shall strike on Sapyeha.”