There was the dark—nearly black—face of a Turco at the open window, rolling his eyes so that the whites showed. He must have been wounded, for his face was contorted with pain.
'But what's the matter?' asked Wojtek.
'That must be the Evil One, it's not a soldier. Lord have mercy on my sins!'
'Look at his teeth!'
'May he go to perdition! I shan't look at him any longer.'
Bartek was silent, then asked after a moment:
'Wojtek?'
'Yes?'
'Mightn't it be a good thing to cross oneself before anyone like that?'
'The heathen don't understand anything about the holy truth.'