“But who is not in love?” muttered the testy Shurski. “Pan Zamoyski himself has almost looked his eyes out, and is as if sitting on an awl.”
“I see that, I see that!”
“What do you see? He, I, Grabovski, Stolangyevich, Konoyadzki, Rubetski of the dragoons, Pyechynga,—she has sunk us all. And with you it will be the same, if you stay here. With her twenty-four hours are sufficient.”
“Lord brother! with me she could do nothing in twenty-four months.”
“How is that?” asked Shurski, with indignation; “are you made of metal, or what?”
“No! But if some one had stolen the last dollar from your pocket you would not be afraid of a thief.”
“Is that it?” answered Shurski.
Kmita grew gloomy at once, for his trouble came to his mind, and he noticed no longer that the black eyes were looking still more stubbornly at him, as if asking, “What is thy name, whence dost thou come, youthful knight?”
But Shurski muttered: “Bore, bore away! She bored that way into me till she bored to my heart. Now she does not even care.”
Kmita shook himself out of his seriousness.