"My respects, gentlemen!"
He was a man of forty years of age, of low stature, with peevish face, the irritable appearance of which was increased by quick eyes, protruding from his face like plums,--evidently a man very rash, stormy, quick to anger.
"My respects, gentlemen!" repeated he more loudly and sharply, since he was not answered at once.
"Respects! respects!" was answered by several voices.
This man was Chaplinski, the under-starosta of Chigirin, the trusted henchman of young Konyetspolski. He was not liked in Chigirin, for he was a terrible blusterer, always involved in lawsuits, always persecuting some one; but for all that he had great influence, consequently people were polite to him.
Zatsvilikhovski, whom all respected for his dignity, virtues, and courage, was the only man he regarded. Seeing him, he approached immediately, and bowing rather haughtily to Skshetuski, sat down near them with his tankard of mead.
"Well," inquired Zatsvilikhovski, "do you know what has become of Hmelnitski?"
"He is hanging, as sure as I am Chaplinski; and if he is not hanging yet, he will be soon. Now that the hetman's orders are issued, let me only get him in my hands!"
Saying this, he struck the table with his fist till the liquor was spilled from the glasses.
"Don't spill the wine, my dear sir!" said Skshetuski.