“They know nothing yet, but they shall know from me,” said Kmita. “Did you tell no one that I fought as Babinich?”
“There was no order,” answered the soldier.
“And the Lauda men with Pan Volodyovski have not come home yet?”
“Not yet; but they may come any day.”
With this the conversation of the first day was at an end. Two weeks later Kmita had risen and was walking on crutches; the following week he insisted on going to church.
“We will go to Upita,” said he to Soroka; “for it is needful to begin with God, and after Mass we will go to Vodokty.”
Soroka did not dare to oppose; therefore he merely ordered straw to be placed in the wagon. Pan Andrei arrayed himself in holiday costume, and they drove away.
They arrived at an hour when there were few people yet in the church. Pan Andrei, leaning on Soroka’s arm, went to the high altar itself, and knelt in the collator’s seat; his face was very thin, emaciated, and besides he wore a long beard which had grown during the war and his sickness. Whoever looked at him thought that he was some passing personage who had come in to Mass; for there was movement everywhere, the country was full of passing nobles who were going from the field to their own estates.
The church filled slowly with people and with neighboring nobles; then owners of inherited land from a distance began to arrive, for in many places churches had been burned, and it was necessary to come to Mass as far as Upita.
Kmita, sunk in prayer, saw no one. He was roused first from his pious meditation by the squeaking of footstools under the tread of persons entering the pew. Then he raised his head, looked, and saw right there above him the sweet, sad face of Olenka.