“That is a chancellor’s head,” pondered Kmita, “which reads in the future as in a book.”
Here he remembered the further predictions,—how he, Kmita or Babinich, would go to Taurogi, find his Olenka, persuade her, marry her, and have descendants to the glory of the Commonwealth. When he remembered this, fire entered his veins; he wished not to lose a moment, but to leave Prussians and slaughter for a time, and fly to Taurogi.
On the eve of his starting there came to him a noble of Lauda, of Volodyovski’s squadron, with a letter from the little knight.
“We are going with Sapyeha and Prince Michael Radzivill against Boguslav and Waldeck,” wrote Pan Michael. “Join us, since a field for just vengeance will be found, and it is proper to pay the Prussians for harm done the Commonwealth.”
Pan Andrei could not believe his own eyes, and for some time he suspected the noble of being sent by some Prussian or Swedish commandant of purpose to lead him with the chambul into ambush. Had Gosyevski come a second time to Prussia? It was impossible not to believe. The handwriting was Volodyovski’s, the arms Volodyovski’s, and Pan Andrei remembered the noble too. Then he inquired where Gosyevski was, and to what point he intended to go.
The noble was rather dull. It was not for him to know whither the hetman was marching; he knew only that he was two days distant, and that the Lauda squadron was with him. Charnyetski had borrowed it for a while, but had sent it back long ago, and now it was marching under lead of the hetman. “They say,” concluded the noble, “that we must go to Prussia, and the soldiers are greatly delighted. But our work is to obey and to strike.”
Kmita, when he had heard the narrative, did not hesitate long. He turned his chambul, went with forced marches to the hetman, and after two days fell late at night into the arms of Volodyovski, who, pressing him, said at once,—
“Count Waldeck and Prince Boguslav are in Prostki, making intrenchments to secure themselves with a fortified camp. We shall march on them.”
“To-day?” asked Kmita.
“To-morrow before daybreak,—that is, in two or three hours.”