“God guard us from such honest men!” answered Zamoyski; “he brought doubt and temptation.”
“What did he say?” asked Kmita, raising a little the lighted match which he was holding in his hand.
“He spoke like a hired traitor.”
“That is why he hastens so now, I suppose,” said Charnyetski. “See! he is running with almost full speed to the Swedish camp. Oh, I would send a ball after him!”
“A good thing!” said Kmita, and he put the match to the cannon.
The thunder of the gun was heard before Zamoyski and Charnyetski could see what had happened. Zamoyski caught his head.
“In God’s name!” cried he, “what have you done?—he was an envoy.”
“I have done ill!” answered Kmita; “for I missed. He is on his feet again and hastens farther. Oh! why did it go over him?” Here he turned to Zamoyski. “Though I had hit him in the loins, they could not have proved that we fired at him purposely, and God knows I could not hold the match in my fingers; it came down of itself. Never should I have fired at an envoy who was a Swede, but at sight of Polish traitors my entrails revolt.”
“Oh, curb yourself; for there would be trouble, and they would be ready to injure our envoys.”
But Charnyetski was content in his soul; for Kmita heard him mutter, “At least that traitor will be sure not to come on an embassy again.”