“I would rather die!” cried he, pitifully. “I have grown accustomed to toil under you, revered leader, and there I know not how it will be.”
“Pan Michael, do not mind the order,” cried Zagloba, with emotion. “I will write to Sapyo myself, and rub his ears for him fittingly.”
But Pan Michael first of all was a soldier; therefore he flew into a passion,—
“But the old volunteer is ever sitting in you. You would better be silent when you know not the question. Service!”
“That is it,” said Charnyetski.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
Zagloba when he stood before the hetman did not answer his joyous greeting, but put his hands behind his back, pouted his lips, and looked on him like a just but stern judge. Sapyeha was pleased when he saw that mien, for he expected some pleasantry and said,—
“How are you, old rogue? Why twist your nose as if you had found some unvirtuous odor?”
“In the whole camp of Sapyeha it smells of hashed meat and cabbage.”
“Why? Tell me.”