“Tfu!” cried Kmita, listening behind the hetman’s armchair to the conversation.
Pan Sakovich rose, went to Kmita, and struck him with his eyes. But he met his own, or better; and in the eyes of Pan Andrei the starosta found such an answer that he dropped his glance to the floor.
The hetman frowned. “Take your seat, Pan Sakovich. And do you preserve calm” (turning to Kmita). Then he said to Sakovich,—
“Conscience speaks only the truth, but mouths chew it and spit it into the world as calumny. He who with foreign troops attacks a country, inflicts wrong on him who defends it. God hears this, and the heavenly chronicler will inscribe.”
“Through hatred of the Sapyehas to the Radzivills was the prince voevoda of Vilna consumed.”
“I hate traitors, not the Radzivills; and the best proof of this is that Prince Michael Radzivill is in my camp now. Tell me what is your wish?”
“Your worthiness, I will tell what I have in my heart; he hates who sends secret assassins.”
Pan Sapyeha was astonished in his turn.
“I send assassins against Prince Boguslav?”
“That is the case!”