"Sorrow is sorrow; but drink some mead with us, for there is nothing better against sorrow. At the glass we will talk of better times."
"Let us drink," said Zagloba, with resignation.
Volodyovski ordered the servant to bring a light and decanter, and afterward, when they had sat down, knowing that reminiscences enlivened Zagloba more than anything else, he inquired: "It is just a year, is it not, since you fled with her before Bogun from Rozlogi?"
"It was in May, in May," answered Zagloba. "We passed through the Kagamlik to flee to Zólotonosha. Oh, it is hard in this world!"
"And she was disguised?"
"As a Cossack. I had to cut off her hair with my sabre, poor thing! so that she shouldn't be discovered. I know the place under the tree where I hid the hair, together with the sabre."
"Oh, she was a sweet lady!" added Longin, with a sigh.
"I tell you, gentlemen, from the first day I fell in love with her as if I had paid homage to her from youthful years. And she would clasp her hands before me and thank me for her rescue and my care. I wish they had killed me before I had lived to this day! Would that I had not lived to it!"
Then came silence again, and the three knights drank mead mixed with tears. After that Zagloba began to speak again.
"I thought to pass a calm old age with them, but now"--here his hands hung down powerless--"nowhere solace, nowhere solace, but in the grave--"