“Whither are they going to flee?”
“To the forests and through the forests to Byalovyej.”
Further conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Sapyeha’s orderly, who delivered to Pan Michael and Kmita a quarter of a sheet of paper folded in four. Volodyovski had barely unfolded his when he said,—
“The order to occupy positions for to-morrow’s work.”
“Do you hear how the cannons are roaring?” asked Zagloba.
“Well, to-morrow! to-morrow!”
“Uf! hot!” said Zagloba, “a bad day for a storm,—may the devil take such heat! Mother of God! But more than one will grow cold in spite of the heat; but not those—not those who commend themselves to Thee, our Patroness— But the cannons are thundering! I am too old for storms; the open field is something else.”
Another officer appeared in the door.
“Is his grace Pan Zagloba here?” asked he.
“I am here.”