Zagloba, who had a watchful eye on everything, saw not the least disquiet on the sullen visage of Eliasenko. It was evident that he was too sure of his ataman.
Bogun then turned haughtily to the nobles: "Well, to one death, to another life," said he. "We may begin."
"Time, time!" said all, tucking back the skirts of their coats under their belts, and taking their sabres under their arms.
They went in front of the inn, and turned down to a creek which flowed among a growth of hawthorns, wild roses, and plum-trees. November had stripped, it is true, the leaves from the bushes, but the thicket was so close that it looked black as a mourning-ribbon along through the empty fields to the forest. The day was pale, but pleasant with that melancholy mildness of autumn full of sweetness. The sun embroidered softly with gold the naked branches of the trees, and lighted up the yellow, sandy banks extending some distance along the right side of the creek. The combatants and their seconds went straight to these banks.
"We will stop here," said Zagloba.
"Agreed," answered all.
Zagloba grew more and more unquiet; at last he approached Volodyovski, and whispered: "Pan Michael--"
"Well?"
"For the love of God, Pan Michael, exert yourself! In your hands now is the fate of Skshetuski, the freedom of the princess, your own life and mine. God keep you from accident! I could do nothing with this robber."
"Why did you challenge him then?"