“Well, what? May I go to Olenka?” asked the prince.
The sword-bearer spread out his arms and dropped his head on his breast.
“Your highness, my niece says that Colonel Billevich’s will forbids her to decide her own fate; and even if it did not forbid, she would not marry your highness, not having the heart to do so.”
“Sakovich, do you hear?” said Boguslav, with a terrible voice.
“I too knew of that will,” continued the sword-bearer, “but at the first moment I did not think it an invincible impediment.”
“I jeer at the wills of you nobles,” said the prince; “I spit on your wills! Do you understand?”
“But we do not jeer at them,” said the aroused Pan Tomash; “and according to the will the maiden is free to enter the cloister or marry Kmita.”
“Whom, you sorry fellow? Kmita? I’ll show you Kmita! I’ll teach you!”
“Whom do you call sorry fellow,—a Billevich?”
And the sword-bearer caught at his side in the greatest fury; but Boguslav, in one moment, struck him on the breast with his hammer, so that Billevich groaned and fell to the floor. The prince then kicked him aside, to open a way to the door, and rushed from the room without a hat.