“Kaska to the bakehouse went her way,
And Stah said to her, ‘Take me in, let me in,
My love.
For the snow is falling, and the wind is blowing;
Where shall I, poor fellow, put my head
Till morning?’”
“It is a good sign! They are returning joyously,” cried Polyanovski.
That moment the envoys, seeing Charnyetski, sprang from their saddles, gave their horses to an attendant, and went quickly to the entrance. Zagloba threw his cap suddenly into the air, and imitating the voice of the marshal so excellently that whoever was not looking on might be deceived, cried,—
“Vivat Pan Charnyetski, our leader!”
The castellan frowned, and asked quickly: “Is there a letter for me?”
“There is not,” answered Zagloba; “there is something better. The marshal with his army passes voluntarily under command of your worthiness.”
Charnyetski pierced him with a look, then turned to Pan Yan, as if wishing to say: “Speak you, for this one has been drinking!”
Zagloba was in fact a little drunk; but Skshetuski confirmed his words, hence astonishment was reflected on the face of the castellan.
“Come with me,” said he to the two. “I beg you also,” said he to Polyanovski and Pan Michael.
All entered his room. They had not sat down yet when Charnyetski asked: “What did he say to my letter?”