“Surely, you are coming with nothing.—Our priests are stubborn; and, between you and me, they act ill, for we cannot defend ourselves forever.”
Kuklinovski halted and pulled him by the sleeve. “And do you think that they act ill? You have your senses; these priests will be ground into bran,—I guarantee that! They are unwilling to obey Kuklinovski; they will obey his sword.”
“You see, it is not a question of the priests with me,” said Kmita, “but of this place, which is holy, that is not to be denied, but which the later it is surrendered the more severe must the conditions be. Is what men say true, that through the country tumults are rising, that here and there they are slashing the Swedes, and that the Khan is marching with aid? If that is true, Miller must retreat.”
“I tell you in confidence, a wish for Swedish broth is rising in the country, and likely in the army as well; that is true. They are talking of the Khan also. But Miller will not retreat; in a couple of days heavy artillery will come. We’ll dig these foxes out of their hole, and then what will be will be!—But you have sense.”
“Here is the gate!” said Kmita; “here I must leave you, unless you wish me to attend you down the slope?”
“Attend me, attend me! A couple of days ago you fired after an envoy.”
“Indeed! What do you mean?”
“Maybe unwillingly. But better attend me; I have a few words to say to you.”
“And I to you.”
“That is well.”