“But she? but she?” asked Kmita, feverishly.
“She, like a maiden of high blood and lofty bearing, showed no satisfaction, did not look at him; but when Boguslav began to talk about you, she fixed her eyes on him quickly. It is terrible what happened when he said that you offered for so many ducats to seize the king and deliver him dead or alive to the Swedes. We thought the soul would go out of her; but her anger against you was so great that it overcame her woman’s weakness. When he told with what disgust he had rejected your offer, she began to respect him, and look at him thankfully; afterward she did not withdraw her hand from him when he wished to escort her from the table.”
Kmita covered his eyes with his hands. “Strike, strike, whoso believes in God!” said he. Suddenly he sprang from his place. “Farewell, gentlemen!”
“How is this? Whither?” asked Zagloba, stopping the way.
“The king will give me permission; I will go and find him,” said Kmita.
“By God’s wounds, wait! You have not yet learned all, and to find him there is time. With whom will you go? Where will you find him?”
Kmita perhaps might not have obeyed, but strength failed him; he was exhausted from wounds, therefore he dropped on the bench, and resting his shoulders against the wall, closed his eyes. Zagloba gave him a glass of wine; he seized it with trembling bands, and spilling some on his beard and breast, drained it to the bottom.
“There is nothing lost,” said Pan Yan; “but the greatest prudence is needed, for you have an affair with a celebrated man. Through hurried action and sudden impulse you may ruin Panna Billevich and yourself.”
“Hear Kharlamp to the end,” said Zagloba.
Kmita gritted his teeth. “I am listening with patience.”