“Whence?” answered the prior, pointing to a great crucifix hanging on the wall. “Go! place your finger on the pierced feet of Christ, and repeat what you have told us.”
The traitor began to bend as if under the crushing of an iron hand, and a new dragon, terror, crawled forth to his face.
Kordetski, the prior, stood lordly, terrible as Moses; rays seemed to shoot from his temples.
“Go, repeat!” said he, without lowering his hand, in a voice so powerful that the shaken arches of the council chamber trembled and echoed as if in fear,—“Go, repeat!”
A moment of silence followed; at last the stifled voice of the visitor was heard,—
“I wash my hands—”
“Like Pilate!” finished Kordetski.
The traitor rose and walked out of the room. He hurried through the yard of the cloister, and when he found himself outside the gate, he began to run, almost as if something were hunting him from the cloister to the Swedes.
Zamoyski went to Charnyetski and Kmita, who had not been in the hall, to tell them what had happened.
“Did that envoy bring any good?” asked Charnyetski; “he had an honest face.”