“Yes,” said Kmita, “I should lead them straightway from Warsaw, for they are of no use in a siege; I should take them to the Bug and the Narev.”
“They are of use,” replied Volodyovski, “for none can see better than they that provisions do not enter the fortress.”
“Well, it will be warm for Wittemberg. Wait, old criminal!” cried Zagloba. “You have warred well, I will not deny that, but you have robbed and plundered still better; you had two mouths,—one for false oaths, the other for breaking promises,—but this time you will not beg off with both of them. The Gallic disease will dry up your skin, and doctors will tear it from you; but we will flay you better, Zagloba’s head for that!”
“Nonsense! he will surrender on conditions to the king, who will not do anything to him,” answered Pan Michael; “and we shall have to give him military honors besides.”
“He will yield on conditions, will he? Indeed!” cried Zagloba. “We shall see!”
Here he began to pound the table with such force that Roh Kovalski, who was coming in at the moment, was frightened and stood as if fixed to the threshold.
“May I serve as a waiting-lad to Jews,” shouted the old man, “if I let free out of Warsaw that blasphemer of the faith, that robber of churches, that oppressor of widows, that executioner of men and women, that hangman’s assistant, that ruffian, that blood-spiller and money-grabber, that purse-gnawer, that flayer! All right! The king will let him out on conditions; but I, as I am a Catholic, as I am Zagloba, as I wish for happiness during life and desire God at death, will make such a tumult against him as no man has ever heard of in this Commonwealth before! Don’t wave your hand, Pan Michael! I’ll make a tumult! I repeat it, I’ll make a tumult!”
“Uncle will make a tumult!” thundered Roh Kovalski.
Just then Akbah Ulan thrust in his beast-like face at the door.
“Effendi!” said he to Kmita, “the armies of the king are visible beyond the Vistula.”