“Here it is,” said Kmita, giving the letter.
Boguslav began to read, and when he had finished a marvellous light flashed in his eyes.
“It is well,” said he; “there is loitering enough! Tomorrow the battle—and I am glad, for I shall not have a fever.”
“And we, too, are glad,” answered Kmita.
A moment of silence followed, during which these two inexorable enemies measured each other with a certain terrible curiosity. The prince first resumed the conversation.
“I divine that it was you who attacked me with the Tartars?”
“It was I.”
“And did you not fear to come here?”
Kmita did not answer.
“Did you count on our relationship through the Kishkis? For you and I have our reckonings. I can tear you out of your skin, Sir Cavalier.”