“My hand!” cried Volodyovski.
“But I say that you do not know Kmita,” put in the king.
“How is that, Gracious Lord?”
“For you know a great soldier, but a self-willed one, an associate in the treason of Radzivill. But here stands the Hector of Chenstohova, to whom, next to Kordetski, Yasna Gora owes most; here stands the defender of the country and my faithful servant, who covered me with his own breast and saved my life when in the pass I had fallen among the Swedes as among wolves. Such is this new Kmita. Know him and love him, for he deserves it.”
Volodyovski began to move his yellow mustaches, not knowing what to say; and the king added,—
“And know that not only did he promise Prince Boguslav nothing, but he began on him the punishment for Radzivill intrigues, for he seized him and intended to give him into your hands.”
“And he warned us against Prince Yanush!” cried Volodyovski. “What angel converted you?”
“Embrace each other!” said the king.
“I loved you at once!” said Kmita to Volodyovski.
Then they fell into each other’s embraces, and the king looked on them and pursed out his lips with delight, time after time, as was his habit. But Kmita embraced the little knight with such feeling that he raised him as he would a cat, and not soon did he place him back on his feet.