Taras looked gloomy.
"I may come back to that presently," he said, sternly; "the next thing to be done is this--the house which has given shelter to the mandatar, and whose owners have deceived me so shamefully, shall disappear from the earth.... Set fire to it, in the basement, beneath the roof, everywhere--let it flare up quickly ... but "--and he drew his pistol--"if any of you value his life, let him beware of plundering!"
The men gave a wild halloo, brandishing their torches, and burst into the house.
"And what is to be done with this man?" said Wassilj, dragging the Polish champion behind him.
"Who are you, then?" now asked Taras. "What is your name?"
"Thaddeus Bazanski, and--and----"
"I can tell you all about him," interrupted Wassilj; "one of the mandatar's men has just told me. He is a miserable wretch, living on his betters, and making money in all sorts of mean ways. It is he that brought about the engagement between the mandatar and that fair, fat creature of a countess!"
"I don't deny it," cried the would-be nobleman, eagerly. "But I am sure, if you knew all about her, and what bliss awaits your enemy in wedlock, you would say 'Thank you' to me!"
Taras could not repress a smile, the man spoke with such utter assurance; but his brow clouded again as Wassilj continued: "He is a Polish nobleman by his own showing. True, he is nothing but a beggar now; but he keeps telling his listeners how he got money out of his peasants before he lost his vast possessions."
"Indeed?" said Taras, frowningly.