“What is thy name?” asked Charnyetski of the lad.
“Mihalko.”
“Whose art thou?”
“The priest’s.”
“Thou hast been the priest’s, but thou wilt be thy own!” said Charnyetski.
Mihalko heard not the last words, for from his wounds and the loss of blood he tottered and fell, striking the castellan’s stirrup with his head.
“Take him and give him every care. I am the guaranty that at the first Diet he will be the equal of you all in rank, as to-day he is the equal in spirit.”
“He deserves it! he deserves it!” cried the nobles.
Then they took Mihalko on a stretcher, and bore him to the priest’s house.
Charnyetski listened to the further report, which not Shandarovski gave, but those who had seen the pursuit of the king by Roh Kovalski. He was wonderfully delighted with that narrative, so that he caught his head, and struck his thighs with his hands; for he understood that after such an adventure the spirit must fall considerably in Karl Gustav.