“In God’s name, do not threaten me with refusal, for you do not know me yet.”
“I think that my grandfather too did not know you.”
Kmita’s eyes shot sparks; but the Billevich blood began to play in her.
“Oh, gesticulate and grit your teeth,” continued she, boldly; “but I fear not, though I am alone and you have a whole party of robbers,—my innocence defends me. You think that I know not how you fired at the portraits in Lyubich and dragged in the girls for debauchery. You do not know me if you suppose that I shall humbly be silent. I want honesty from you, and no will can prevent me from exacting it. Nay, it was the will of my grandfather that I should be the wife of only an honest man.”
Kmita was evidently ashamed of what had happened at Lyubich; for dropping his head, he asked in a voice now calmer, “Who told you of this shooting?”
“All the nobles in the district speak of it.”
“I will pay those homespuns, the traitors, for their good will,” answered Kmita, sullenly. “But that happened in drink,—in company,—for soldiers are not able to restrain themselves. As for the girls I had nothing to do with them.”
“I know that those brazen ruffians, those murderers, persuade you to everything.”
“They are not murderers, they are my officers.”
“I commanded those officers of yours to leave my house.”