Pan Michael

"I see, and also that at this moment she is aiming Ketling's musket."

In fact, Krysia and the little knight were occupied in conversation, and Basia was aiming the musket at the window for her own amus.e.m.e.nt.

Pani Makovetski began to shake and squeak at sight of that. "You cannot imagine what I pa.s.s through with that girl! She is a regular haydamak."

"If all the haydamaks were like her, I would join them at once."

"There is nothing in her head but arms, horses, and war. Once she broke out of the house to hunt ducks with a gun. She crept in somewhere among the rushes, was looking ahead of her, the reeds began to open--what did she see? The head of a Tartar stealing along through the reeds to the village. Another woman would have been terrified, and woe to her if she had not fired quickly; the Tartar dropped into the water. Just imagine, she laid him out on the spot; and with what? With duck-shot."

Here the lady began to shake again and laugh at the mishap of the Tartar; then she added, "And to tell the truth, she saved us all, for a whole chambul was advancing; but as she came and gave the alarm, we had time to escape to the woods with the servants. With us it is always so!"

Zagloba's face was covered with such delight that he half closed his eye for a moment; then he sprang up, hurried to the maiden, and before she saw him, he kissed her on the forehead. "This from an old soldier for that Tartar in the rushes," said he.

The maiden gave a sweeping shake to her yellow forelock. "Didn't I give him beans?" cried she, with her fresh, childish voice, which sounded so strangely in view of what she meant with her words.

"Oh, my darling little haydamak!" cried Zagloba, with emotion.

"But what is one Tartar? You gentlemen have cut them down by the thousand, and Swedes, and Germans, and Rakotsi's Hungarians. What am I before you, gentlemen,--before knights who have not their equals in the Commonwealth? I know that perfectly! Oho!"

"I will teach you to work with the sabre, since you have so much courage. I am rather heavy now, but Michael there, he too is a master."

The maiden sprang up in the air at such a proposal; then she kissed Zagloba on the shoulder and courtesied to the little knight, saying, "I give thanks for the promise. I know a little already."

But Pan Michael was wholly occupied talking with Krysia; therefore he answered inattentively, "Whatever you command."

Zagloba, with radiant face, sat down again near Pani Makovetski. "My gracious benefactress," said he, "I know well which Turkish sweetmeats are best, for I pa.s.sed long years in Stambul; but I know this too, that there is just a world of people hungry for them. How has it happened that no man has coveted that maiden to this time?"

"As G.o.d lives, there was no lack of men who were courting them both.

But Basia we call, in laughing, a widow of three husbands, for at one time three worthy cavaliers paid her addresses,--all n.o.bles of our parts, and heirs, whose relations.h.i.+p I can explain in detail to you."

Saying this, Pani Makovetski spread out the fingers of her left hand and straightened her right index finger; but Zagloba inquired quickly, "And what happened to them?"

"All three died in war; therefore we call Basia a widow."

"H'm! but how did she endure the loss?"

"With us, you see, a case like that happens every day; and it is a rare thing for any man, after reaching ripe age,

"She will feel it!" said Zagloba. "Gracious benefactress, we understand that perfectly. She will feel it! she will feel it!"

"Such is our predestination," said Pani Makovetski.

"That is just it. You took the words out of my mouth."

Further conversation was interrupted by the approach of the younger society. The little knight had grown much emboldened with Krysia; and she, through evident goodness of heart, was occupied with him and his grief, like a physician with a patient. And perhaps for this very reason she showed him more kindness than their brief acquaintance permitted. But as Pan Michael was a brother of the stolnik's wife, and the young lady was related to the stolnik, no one was astonished. Basia remained, as it were, aside; and only Pan Zagloba turned to her unbroken attention. But however that might be, it was apparently all one to Basia whether some one was occupied with her or not. At first, she gazed with admiration on both knights; but with equal admiration did she examine Ketling's wonderful weapons distributed on the walls.

Later she began to yawn somewhat; then her eyes grew heavier and heavier, and at last she said,--

"I am so sleepy that I may wake in the morning."

After these words the company separated at once; for the ladies were very weary from the journey, and were only waiting to have beds prepared. When Zagloba found himself at last alone with Pan Michael, he began first of all to wink significantly, then he covered the little knight with a shower of light fists. "Michael! what, Michael, hei? like turnips! Will you become a monk, what? That bilberry Krysia is a sweet one. And that rosy little haiduk, uh! What will you say of her, Michael?"

"What? Nothing!" answered the little knight.

"That little haiduk pleased me princ.i.p.ally. I tell you that when I sat near her during supper I was as warm from her as from a stove."

"She is a kid yet; the other is ever so much more stately."

"Panna Krysia is a real Hungarian plum; but this one is a little nut!

As G.o.d lives, if I had teeth! I wanted to say if I had such a daughter, I'd give her to no man but you. An almond, I say, an almond!"

Volodyovski grew sad on a sudden, for he remembered the nicknames which Zagloba used to give a.n.u.sia. She stood as if living before him there in his mind and memory,--her form, her small face, her dark tresses, her joyfulness, her chattering, and ways of looking. Both these were younger, but still she was a hundred times dearer than all who were younger.

The little knight covered his face with his palms, and sorrow carried him away the more because it was unexpected. Zagloba was astonished; for some time he was silent and looked unquietly, then he asked, "Michael, what is the matter? Speak, for G.o.d's sake!"

Volodyovski spoke, "So many are living, so many are walking through the world, but my lamb is no longer among them; never again shall I see her." Then pain stifled his voice; he rested his forehead on the arm of the sofa and began to whisper through his set lips, "O G.o.d! O G.o.d! O G.o.d!"

CHAPTER VIII.

Basia insisted that Volodyovski should give her instruction in "fencing;" he did not refuse, though he delayed for some days. He preferred Krysia; still, he liked Basia greatly, so difficult was it, in fact, not to like her.

A certain morning the first lesson began, mainly because of Basia's boasting and her a.s.surances that she knew that art by no means badly, and that no common person could stand before her. "An old soldier taught me," said she; "there is no lack of these among us; it is known too that there are no swordsmen superior to ours. It is a question if even you, gentlemen, would not find your equals."

"Of what are you talking?" asked Zagloba. "We have no equals in the whole world."

"I should wish it to come out that even I am your equal. I do not expect it, but I should like it."

"If it were firing from pistols, I too would make a trial," said Pani Makovetski, laughing.

"As G.o.d lives, it must be that the Amazons themselves dwell in Latychov," said Zagloba. Here he turned to Krysia: "And what weapon do you use best, your ladys.h.i.+p?"

"None," answered Krysia.

"Ah, ha! none!" exclaimed Basia. And here, mimicking Krysia's voice, she began to sing:--

"'O knights, believe me, Useless is armor, s.h.i.+elds give no service; Cupid's keen arrows, Through steel and iron, Go to all hearts.'

"She wields arms of that kind; never fear," added Basia, turning to Pan Michael and Zagloba. "In that she is a warrior of no common skill."

"Take your place, young lady!" said Pan Michael, wis.h.i.+ng to conceal a slight confusion.

"Oh, as G.o.d lives! if what I think should come true!" cried Basia, blus.h.i.+ng with delight.

And she stood at once in position with a light Polish sabre in her right hand; the left she put behind her, and with breast pushed forward, with raised head and dilated nostrils, she was so pretty and so rosy that Zagloba whispered to Pan Michael's sister, "No decanter, even if filled with Hungarian a hundred years old, would delight me so much with the sight of it."