Maciej Kierz, the wise old innkeeper of Pognębin, began to shake his head.
'Well, the Germans have been victorious in a terrible war; they have been victorious—but I always thought they would be. But the Lord alone knows what will come out of it for us.'
Bartek stared at him.
'What do you say?'
'The Germans have never cared to consider us much, anyhow, but, now they will be as stuck up as if there were no God above them. And they will illtreat us still more than they do already.'
'But that's not true!' Bartek said.
Old Kierz was a person of such authority in Pognębin that all the village always thought as he did, and it was sheer audacity to contradict him. But Bartek was a conqueror now, and an authority himself. All the same they gazed at him in astonishment, and even in some indignation.
'Who are you, to quarrel with Maciej? Who are you—?'
'What's Maciej to me? It isn't to such as he that I have talked, you see! Why, you fellows, I talked, didn't I, to Steinmetz—was? But let Maciej fancy what he likes. We shall be better off now.'
Maciej looked at the conqueror for a moment.