“Heedless man!” exclaims Pulaski, “what blind fury urges you towards your destruction? My army is entirely routed---destroyed---but my courage still remains! Why should we perish uselessly here? Let us be gone! I will conduct you into climes where we may raise up new enemies against the Russian name. Let us live, since we can still serve our country! Let us save ourselves, let us save Lodoiska.”
“Lodoiska! am I capable of abandoning her?”
We instantly run to her tent—we are scarce in time: we carry her off, precipitate ourselves into the neighbouring woods, and on the next morning we venture to sally forth, and present ourselves before the gate of a castle that was not altogether unknown to us.
It indeed belonged to a noble Pole, who had served during some time in our army. Micislas instantly comes forth, and offers an asylum, which he advises us, however, to make use of for a few hours only. He informs us, that a very astonishing piece of news had spread abroad on the former evening, and began to be confirmed, according to which the king himself had been carried away out of Warsaw, that the Russians had pursued the conspirators, and brought back the monarch to his capital; and that, in fine, it was talked of putting a price upon the head of Pulaski, who was suspected of being the author of this treason.
“Believe me,” says he, “when I assure you, whether you have engaged or not in this bold plot, that you ought to fly; leave your uniforms here, which will assuredly betray you: I will instantly supply you with clothes which are less remarkable: and as to Lodoiska, I myself will conduct her to the place which you have chosen for your retreat.”
Lodoiska now interrupts Micislas: “The place of my retreat shall be that of their flight, for I will accompany them every where.”
Pulaski represents to his daughter, that she was not able to sustain the fatigue incident to such a long journey, and that besides we should be liable to continual dangers.
“The greater the peril is,” replies she, “the more I ought to partake it with you. You have repeated to me a hundred times, that the daughter of Pulaski ought not to be an ordinary woman. For the last eight years I have constantly lived in the midst of alarms; I have seen nothing but scenes of carnage and horror. Death has environed me on all sides, and menaced me at every moment: will you not permit me to brave it now by your side? Is not the life of Lodoiska connected with that of her father? Lovzinski, will not the stroke that fells you to the ground send your wife to the grave? and am I no longer worthy——”
I now interrupt Lodoiska, and join with her father, in stating the reasons which determined us to leave her in Poland. She hears me with impatience: “Ungrateful man,” exclaims she at length, “will you fly without me?” “You shall remain,” replies Pulaski, “with Lovzinski’s sisters, and I prohibit you——”
His daughter, now frantic with grief, would not permit him to finish the sentence.