"I see that you are desperate, and trust not in the mercy of God."
"You are mistaken! I say that it is evil for me in the world, because it is; but long ago I was reconciled to the will of God. I do not beg, I do not groan, I do not curse. I do not beat my head against the wall; I merely desire to accomplish that which pertains to me while strength and life remain."
"But grief is devouring you like poison."
"God gave grief to devour, and he will send the cure when he wishes."
"I have no answer to such an argument," said Kjetovski. "In God is the only salvation; in him hope for us and the whole Commonwealth. The king went to Chenstokhova. He may obtain something from the Most Holy Lady; otherwise we shall all perish."
Silence followed, and from outside the window came only the constant "Who's there?" of the dragoons.
"True, true," said Kjetovski. "We all belong more to the dead than the living. People have forgotten to smile in this Commonwealth; they only groan like that wind in the chimney. I too have believed that happier times would come, till I went on this journey with others; but now I see that that was a barren hope. Ruin, war, hunger, murder, and nothing more,--nothing more."
Skshetuski was silent; the blaze of the fire lighted his stern, emaciated face. Finally he raised his head and said with a voice of dignity,--
"That is all temporal, which passes away, vanishes, and leaves nothing behind."
"You speak like a monk," said Kjetovski.