“Though glad to entertain, I will not delay you, since your work is more urgent, for the day of judgment is at hand.”
Kmita went out; and after him went the young lady, wishing instead of her father to do honor to the guest, for the old man was weak on his feet.
“Be in good health, young lady,” said Kmita; “you do not know how thankful I am to you.”
“If you are thankful to me,” answered the young lady, “do me one service. You are going to Chenstohova; here is a ruddy ducat,—take it, I beg, and give it for a Mass in the chapel.”
“For whose intention?” asked Kmita.
The prophetess dropped her eyes, trouble spread over her face; at the same time a slight flush came to her cheeks, and she said with a low voice, like the rustle of leaves,—
“For the intention of Andrei, that God may turn him from sinful ways.”
Kmita pushed back two steps, stared, and from astonishment could not speak for a time.
“By the wounds of Christ!” cried he, at last, “what manner of house is this? Where am I? The prophecy itself, the soothsaying, and the indications—Your name is Olenka, and you give me for a Mass for the intentions of a sinful Andrei. This cannot be chance; it is the finger of God,—it is, it is. I shall go wild!—As God lives, I shall!”
“What is the matter?”