Meanwhile the officer came back, and gave Kmita a piece of paper with writing.
“What is this?” asked Pan Andrei.
“Money or the same as money,—an order.”
“And where will they pay me?”
“At headquarters!”
“Where are headquarters?”
“In Warsaw,” said the officer, laughing maliciously.
“We sell only for ready money.”
“How’s that, what’s that, oh, gates of heaven?” began old Kyemlich, groaning.
Kmita turned, and looking at him threateningly, said,—