“O Jesus of Nazareth!” screamed Anusia.
And there was so much truth and sincerity in that cry that Kmita said more mildly,—
“How is that? Then you were not in the plot? That may be!”
Anusia covered her face with her hands, but she could say nothing; she merely repeated, time after time,—
“Jesus, Mary! Jesus, Mary!”
“Calm yourself,” said Kmita, still more mildly. “You will go in safety to Pan Sapyeha, for Pan Zamoyski did not know with whom he had to deal. See, those men whom they are flogging were to carry you off. I give them their lives, so that they may tell Pan Zamoyski how smoothly it went with them.”
“Then have you defended me from shame?”
“I have, though I did not know whether you would be glad.”
Anusia, instead of making answer or contradiction, seized Pan Andrei’s hand and pressed it to her pale lips; and sparks went from his feet to his head.
“Give peace, for God’s sake!” cried he. “Sit in the carriage, for you will wet your feet—and be not afraid! You would not be better cared for with your mother.”