Suddenly the doors were opened, and in walked Zatsvilikhovski. "Your Highness, I was a witness," said he.
"I have not come here to give reasons, but to demand punishment," cried Lashch.
The prince turned and fastened his eyes upon him. "Stop! stop!" said he, quietly and with emphasis.
There was something so terrible in his eyes and in his hushed voice that Lashch, though notorious for insolence, became silent at once, as if he had lost his speech, and the spectators grew pale.
"Speak!" said the prince to Zatsvilikhovski.
Zatsvilikhovski described the whole affair,--how the commander, led by an ignoble sentiment, unworthy not only of a dignitary but of a noble, began to blaspheme against the suffering of Pan Skshetuski, and then rushed upon him with a sabre; with moderation, in truth unusual to his age, the lieutenant had used his weapon only to ward off the aggressor. Finally the old man ended his story thus,--
"And since, as your Highness knows, up to my seventieth year lying has not stained my lips, nor will it while I live, I could not under oath change one word in my story."
The prince knew that Zatsvilikhovski's words were equal to gold, and besides he knew Lashch too well. He gave no answer then; he merely took a pen and began to write. When he had finished he looked at the commander. "Justice will be meted out to you," said he.
The commander opened his mouth and wished to speak, but somehow the words did not come to him; he merely put his hand on his hip, bowed, and went out proudly from the room.
"Jelenski," said the prince, "you will give this letter to Pan Skshetuski."