“As to knowing I know them not, for they are no longer in the world, at least those who had the arms Tear-Cowl. The last one fell at Zbaraj. He was the greatest knight that Lithuania had. Who of us does not know of Podbipienta?”
“I have heard also of him; but I ask for this reason: There is in attendance on my sister a lady of honorable family. She was the betrothed of this Podbipienta who was killed at Zbaraj. She is an orphan, without father or mother; and though my sister loves her greatly, still, being the natural guardian of my sister, I have in this way the maiden in guardianship.”
“A pleasant guardianship!” put in Kmita.
Zamoyski smiled, winked, and smacked his tongue. “Sweetcakes! isn’t she?”
But suddenly he saw that he was betraying himself, and assumed a serious air.
“Oh, you traitor!” said he, half jestingly, half seriously, “you want to hang me on a hook, and I almost let it out!”
“What?” asked Kmita, looking him quickly in the eyes.
Here Zamoyski saw clearly that in quickness of wit he was not the equal of his guest, and turned the conversation at once.
“That Podbipienta,” said he, “bequeathed her some estates there in your region. I don’t remember the names of them, for they are strange,—Baltupie, Syrutsiani, Myshykishki,—in a word, all that he had. Would I could remember them! Five or six estates.”
“They are adjoining estates, not separate. Podbipienta was a very wealthy man, and if that lady should come to his fortune she might have her own ladies-in-waiting, and seek for a husband among senators.”