Again the room was gleaming with a bright, quivering light. Round about a deathlike stillness continued; but the fire hissed, the whirlwind howled, and the snow rolled each moment more densely through the window openings.
At last confused voices were heard, then the clatter of spurs and the tramp of many feet; the door of the chamber was opened wide, and soldiers rushed in.
It was bright from the naked sabres, and more and more figures of knights in helmets, caps, and kolpaks crowded through the door. Many were bearing lanterns in their hands, and they held them to the light, advancing carefully, though it was light in the room from the fire as well.
At last there sprang forth from the crowd a little knight all in enamelled armor, and cried,—
“Where is the voevoda of Vilna?”
“Here!” said Kharlamp, pointing to the body lying on the sofa.
Volodyovski looked at him, and said,—
“He is not living!”
“He is not living, he is not living!” went from mouth to mouth.
“The traitor, the betrayer is not living!”