Suddenly two old men entered by the door. One had thick, grizzled whiskers, the other a long beard in which shone silver threads.
“Ah,” cried the old Savicky, “here comes Palchevici, here comes Rujancowsky. Our Roman has come! Here he is!”
“We know,” said Rujancowsky gravely, “we have seen him.”
“Yes, yes, we have seen him,” murmured Palchevici.
They both approached and shook Roman warmly by the hand.
“Good day and welcome to you! See, now all the Poles of this town are met together in one place,” said Rujancowsky.
“What?” questioned Roman. “Only these few are left?”
“The others have passed away,” said old Savicky sadly.
“Yes, they have passed away,” murmured Palchevici, running his fingers through his big grey whiskers.
They were all silent for a time.