"Very well. I'll fetch this instant the letter of the Lord High Steward at Vienna, and that will open your eyes a bit."
"And I'll produce letters from the Governors of Tobolsk, Irkutsk, and Jeniseisk, and that will make you prick up your ears."
The two distinguished gentlemen were on the point of coming to fisticuffs when, fortunately, the pastor, always sober-minded, intervened between them.
"Pray be calm, your honours," said Gottlieb Klausner. "Why all this barren strife? Have we not here the very portrait painted for his honour the Starosta by a famous Viennese painter—the portrait, I mean, of Squire Casimir in the uniform of a lieutenant-colonel of the Imperial and Royal Uhlans? That picture will be the best means of deciding which of you is right."
Two heydukes thereupon brought the huge picture in its bronzed frame into the room, and they leaned it up against the wall.
And as they all three gazed at the picture—and, remember, they were all of them strong-minded men—they bounced back in amazement, as if they had seen a spectre.
"Lord have mercy upon us!"
And yet it was an extremely handsome picture, too, painted in a most masterly manner—true to the life. An officer of Uhlans, a manly and picturesque figure. Tawny, lion-like locks flowed over both shoulders; his ruddy face, blue eyes, and light eyebrows went very well together. At the corner of his smiling mouth there was a little mole.
"That is my son," gasped the clergyman, and he fell senseless to the ground.