Charnyetski did not hear the continuation of this dialogue, for he had fallen to thinking deeply over Zagloba’s words. He too knew of Lyubomirski’s ambition, and doubted not that the marshal would either impose his own will on him, or would act on his own account, even though that should bring harm to the Commonwealth. Therefore his stern face became gloomy, and he began to twist his beard.
“Oho!” whispered Zagloba to Pan Yan, “Charnyetski is chewing something bitter, for his face is like the face of an eagle; he will snap up somebody soon.”
Then Charnyetski said: “Some one of you, gentlemen, should go with a letter from me to Lyubomirski.”
“I am known to him, and I will go,” said Pan Yan.
“That is well,” answered Charnyetski; “the more noted the messenger, the better.”
Zagloba turned to Volodyovski and whispered: “He is speaking now through the nose; that is a sign of great change.”
In fact, Charnyetski had a silver palate, for a musket-ball had carried away his own years before at Busha. Therefore whenever he was roused, angry, and unquiet, he always began to speak with a sharp and clinking voice. Suddenly he turned to Zagloba: “And perhaps you would go with Pan Skshetuski?”
“Willingly,” answered Zagloba. “If I cannot do anything, no man can. Besides, to a man of such great birth it will be more proper to send two.”
Charnyetski compressed his lips, twisted his beard, and repeated as if to himself: “Great birth, great birth—”
“No one can deprive Lyubomirski of that,” remarked Zagloba.