The princes bowed and said both at once: "Cousins of the deceased Helena."
The ruddy face of Zagloba became pale blue in a moment. He began to beat the air with his hands as if he had been struck with a bullet. He opened his lips, unable to catch breath, rolled his eyes, and said or rather groaned: "How?"
"There is news," answered Volodyovski, gloomily, "that the princess was murdered in the monastery of Nikolai the Good."
"The mob suffocated with smoke in a cell twelve young ladies and some nuns, among whom was our cousin," added Prince Yuri.
This time Zagloba's countenance, formerly blue, became so red that those present were afraid of apoplexy. Slowly his lids dropped over his eyes; he covered them with his hands, and from his mouth came a fresh groan: "Oh, world! world! world!" Then he was silent.
But the princes and Volodyovski began to complain.
"Oh, good lady, we your friends and relatives gathered together,--we who wished to go to save you," said the young knight, sighing time after time; "but it is evident that we were late with our aid. Our willingness was in vain, in vain our sabres and our courage; for you are in another and better than this bad world, waiting upon the Queen of Heaven."
"Oh, cousin," cried the gigantic Yuri, who in grief seized his hair anew, "forgive us our faults, and for every drop of your blood we will pour out three gallons."
"So help us God!" responded Andrei.
The two men stretched their hands to heaven. Zagloba rose from his seat, advanced a few steps toward the bed, tottered like one drunk, and fell on his knees before the image.