"Let me have a look at it."
The Lithuanian drew the sword and handed it to him; but Skshetuski's arm dropped in a moment. He could neither point the weapon nor aim a blow freely. He tried with both hands; still it was heavy. Skshetuski was a little ashamed, and turning to those present, said,--
"Now, gentlemen, who can make a cross with it?"
"We have tried already," answered several voices. "Pan Zatsvilikhovski is the only man who raises it, but he can't make a cross with it."
"Well, let us see you, sir," said Skshetuski, turning to the Lithuanian.
Podbipienta raised the sword as if it were a cane, and whirled it several times with the greatest ease, till the air in the room whistled and a breeze was blowing on their faces.
"May God be your aid!" said Skshetuski. "You have sure service with the prince."
"God knows that I am anxious, and my sword will not rust in it."
"But what about your wits," asked Zagloba, "since you don't know how to use them?"
Zatsvilikhovski now rose, and with the lieutenant was preparing to go out, when a man with hair white as a dove entered, and seeing Zatsvilikhovski, said,--