“It does, and will defend itself. The Swedes are about to retreat.”
“For God’s sake! The king will cover you with gold. From the very cloister do you say that you have come? How did the Swedes let you pass?”
“I did not ask their permission; but pardon me, I cannot give a more extended account in the church.”
“Right, right!” said Pan Lugovski. “God is merciful! You have fallen from heaven to us! It is not proper in the church,—right! Wait a moment. The king will rise directly; he will go to breakfast before high Mass. To-day is Sunday. Come stand with me at the door, and when the king is going out I will present you. Come, come, there is no time to spare.”
He pushed ahead, and Kmita followed. They had barely taken their places at the door when the two pages appeared, and after them came Yan Kazimir slowly.
“Gracious King!” cried Pan Lugovski, “there are tidings from Chenstohova.”
The wax-like face of Yan Kazimir became animated in an instant.
“What tidings? Where is the man?” inquired he.
“This noble; he says that he has come from the very cloister.”
“Is the cloister captured?” cried the king.