“Well,” said Zagloba, “at least we have nothing to fear from the honest Sapyeha. If he will ever be a traitor, I am of as much value as my boot-heel.”
“There is nothing to be said on that point. He is as honest as bread without a raw spot,” put in Pan Michael.
“And what he neglects in the evening he repairs in the day-time,” added Kharlamp.
“Then we will go,” said Zagloba, “for to tell the truth I feel a void in my stomach.”
They went out, mounted their horses, and rode off; for Sapyeha was on the other side of the city and rather far away. When they arrived at the hetman’s quarters they found in the yard a multitude of horses, and a crowd of grooms, for whom a keg of beer had been set out, and who, as is usual, drinking without measure, had begun to quarrel; they grew quiet, however, at sight of the approaching knights, especially when Zagloba fell to striking with the side of his sabre those who were in his way, and to crying with a stentorian voice: “To your horses, rascals, to your horses! You are not the persons invited to the banquet.”
Sapyeha received the officers as usual, with open arms; and since he had been drinking a little with his guests, he began at once to tease Zagloba.
“With the forehead, Lord Commander!” said he.
“With the forehead, Lord Kiper,” answered Zagloba.
“If you call me that,” said Sapyeha, “I will give you wine which is working yet.”
“Very good, if it will make a tippler of a hetman!”