In front of the crowd stood an old Zaporojian of gigantic size, with a wild and savage face. Approaching the fire, he asked,--
"Who is the envoy here?" A strong smell of spirits came from him; the Zaporojian was evidently drunk. "Who is envoy here?" repeated he.
"I am," said Skshetuski, haughtily.
"Thou!"
"Am I a brother to thee that thou sayest 'Thou' to me?"
"Learn politeness, you ruffian!" interrupted the sergeant. "You must say, 'Serene great mighty lord envoy.'"
"Destruction to you, devils' sons! May the death of Serpyagoff strike you, serene great mighty sons! And what business have you with the ataman?"
"It is not thy affair! Know only that thy life depends upon my reaching the ataman as quickly as possible."
At that moment another Zaporojian came out from the crowd.
"We are here at the command of the ataman," said he, "on guard so that no one from the Poles may approach; and if any man approaches, we are to bind him and deliver him bound, and we will do that."