“I have considered; now do you consider, my benefactor, whether the cavalier is worthy of the lady.”
“My breath is stopped from wonder.”
“Now see if I had any evil intentions.”
“And would your highness not consider our small station?”
“Are the Billeviches so cheap? Do you value your shield of nobility and the antiquity of your family thus? Does a Billevich say this?”
“I know, gracious prince, that the origin of our family is to be sought in ancient Rome; but—”
“But,” interrupted the prince, “you have neither hetmans nor chancellors. That is nothing! You are soldiers, like my uncle in Brandenburg. Since a noble in our Commonwealth may be elected king, there are no thresholds too lofty for his feet. My sword-bearer and, God grant, my uncle, I was born of a Brandenburg princess; my father’s mother was an Ostrogski; but my grandfather of mighty memory, Kryshtof I., he whom they called Thunder, grand hetman, chancellor, and voevoda of Vilna, was married the first time to Panna Sobek; but for this reason the coronet did not fall from his head, for Panna Sobek was a noble woman, as honorably born as others. When my late father married the daughter of the elector, they wondered why he did not remember his own dignity, though he allied himself with a reigning house. Such is the devilish pride of you nobles! But acknowledge, my benefactor, you do not think a Sobek better than a Billevich, do you?”
Speaking thus, the prince began to tap the old man on the shoulder with great familiarity. The noble melted like wax, and answered,—
“God reward your highness for honorable intentions! A weight has fallen from my heart! But now, if it were not for difference of faith!”
“A Catholic priest will perform the ceremony. I do not want another myself.”