The peasants surrounded him in gloomy silence, fixing their burning eyes on him, and shuffling their feet impatiently. So menacing and full of stern resolution did they look that he was at a loss to know what to do, and merely stood wiping the perspiration from his bald head and casting frightened glances round the circle of stubborn, set faces. He realized that this was not only idle talk, but the beginning of something terrible. He sat down again on a bench, and took pinch after pinch of snuff to help himself to arrive at some decision. Then Jędrzej went up to him, and said solemnly:
"You neither want to tell the truth nor to swear to it. So it's plain you are a party to those thieves!"
The miller sprang up as hastily as if something close beside him had been struck by lightning, upsetting the bench as he did so.
"Jesus! Mary! have I to do with thieves? You say this to me?"
"I say it and repeat it!"
"And we repeat it too!" they all shouted together, shaking their fists at him. Their heads were bent forward; their glances were like vultures' beaks, ready to tear.
Attracted by the noise, Jadwiś burst into the room and stood petrified.
"What's up here?" she asked anxiously.
The peasants dropped their clenched hands, and began to clear their throats.
"We don't want women here, listening and blabbing it all out afterwards," someone said angrily.