"Ah! he is an old fox. But look, see what he is doing, for he would go through the ground."
"This minute!" answered a number of Cossacks, going to the door of the stable.
"Throw out hay from the mow! Rub the horses! We will start at sunrise."
"All right, father!"
Zagloba, leaving at once his lookout in the opening of the thatch, crawled to the hole in the floor. At the same moment he heard the creak of the wooden hinges and the rustling of the straw under the feet of the Cossacks. His heart beat like a hammer in his breast, and he pressed the hilt of the sabre in his hand, renewing in his soul the oath that he would resign himself to be burned with the stable or be cut to pieces rather than be taken alive. He expected every moment that the Cossacks would raise a fearful uproar, but he was deceived. For a time he heard them walking more and more quickly through the whole stable. At last one said,--
"What the devil is the matter? I can't find him. We threw him in here."
"He isn't a werewolf, is he? Strike a light, Vassily; it is as dark here as in a forest."
A moment of silence followed. Evidently Vassily was looking for flint and tinder, while the other Cossacks began to call in a low voice: "Where are you?"
"Kiss the dog's ear!" muttered Zagloba.
Steel struck flint, a cluster of sparks flashed forth and lighted the dark interior of the stable and the heads of the Cossacks in their caps, then deeper darkness came down again.