Pan Michael

"I thank you!" answered Ketling, pressing her hand to his mouth.

"Ah! frost out of doors, and Cupid is naked; but he would not freeze in this house," said Zagloba. "And I see that from sighs alone there will be a thaw,--from nothing but sighs."

"Spare us," said Krysia.

"I thank G.o.d that you have not lost your jovial humor," said Ketling, "for joyousness is a sign of health."

"And a clear conscience," added Zagloba. "'He grieves who is troubled,'

declares the Seer in Holy Writ. Nothing troubles me, therefore I am joyous. Oh, a hundred Turks! What do I behold? For I saw you in Polish costume with a lynx-skin cap and a sabre, and now you have changed again into some kind of Englishman, and are going around on slim legs like a stork."

"For I have been in Courland, where the Polish dress is not worn, and have just pa.s.sed two days with the English resident in Warsaw."

"Then you are returning from Courland?"

"I am. The relative who adopted me has died, and left me another estate there."

"Eternal repose to him! He was a Catholic, of course?"

"He was."

"You have this consolation at least. But you will not leave us for this property in Courland?"

"I will live and die here," answered Ketling, looking at Krysia; and at once she dropped her long lashes on her eyes.

Pani Makovetski arrived when it was quite dark; and Ketling went outside the gate to meet her. He conducted the lady to his house with as much homage as if she had been a reigning princess. She wished on the following day to seek other quarters in the city itself; but her resolve was ineffective. The young knight implored, dwelt on his brotherhood with Pan Michael, and knelt until she agreed to stay with him longer. It was merely stipulated that Pan Zagloba should remain some time yet, to s.h.i.+eld the ladies with his age and dignity from evil tongues. He agreed willingly, for he had become attached beyond measure to the haiduk; and besides, he had begun to arrange in his head certain plans which demanded his presence absolutely. The maidens were both glad, and Basia came out at once openly on Ketling's side.

"We will not move out to-day, anyhow," said she to Pan Michael's hesitating sister; "and if not, it is all the same whether we stay one day or twelve."

Ketling pleased her as well as Krysia, for he pleased all women; besides, Basia had never seen a foreign cavalier, except officers of foreign infantry,--men of small rank and rather common persons.

Therefore she walked around him, shaking her forelock, dilating her nostrils, and looking at him with a childlike curiosity; so importunate was she that at last she heard the censure of Pani Makovetski. But in spite of the censure, she did not cease to investigate him with her eyes, as if wis.h.i.+ng to fix his military value, and at last she turned to Pan Zagloba.

"Is he a great soldier?" asked she of the old man in a whisper.

"Yes; so

"Have you seen him under fire?"

"A thousand times! He would halt for you in it without a frown, pat his horse on the shoulder, and be ready to talk of love."

"Is it the fas.h.i.+on to talk of love at such a time? Hei?"

"It is the fas.h.i.+on to do everything by which contempt for bullets is shown."

"But hand to hand, in a duel, is he equally great?"

"Yes, yes! a wasp; it is not to be denied."

"But could he stand before Pan Michael?"

"Before Michael he could not!"

"Ha!" exclaimed Basia, with joyous pride, "I knew that he could not. I thought at once that he could not." And she began to clap her hands.

"So, then, do you take Pan Michael's side?" asked Zagloba.

Basia shook her forelock and was silent; after a while a quiet sigh raised her breast. "Ei! what of that? I am glad, for he is ours."

"But think of this, and beat it into yourself, little haiduk," said Zagloba, "that if on the field of battle it is hard to find a better man than Ketling, he is most dangerous for maidens, who love him madly for his beauty. He is trained famously in love-making too."

"Tell that to Krysia, for love is not in my head," answered Basia, and turning to Krysia, she began to call, "Krysia! Krysia! Come here just for a word."

"I am here," said Krysia.

"Pan Zagloba says that no lady looks on Ketling without falling in love straightway. I have looked at him from every side, and somehow nothing has happened; but do you feel anything?"

"Basia, Basia!" said Krysia, in a tone of persuasion.

"Has he pleased you, eh?"

"Spare us! be sedate. My Basia, do not talk nonsense, for Ketling is coming."

In fact, Krysia had not taken her seat when Ketling approached and inquired, "Is it permitted to join the company?"

"We request you earnestly," answered Krysia.

"Then I am bold to ask, of what was your conversation?"

"Of love," cried Basia, without hesitation.

Ketling sat down near Krysia. They were silent for a time; for Krysia, usually self-possessed and with presence of mind, had in some wonderful way become timid in presence of the cavalier; hence he was first to ask,--

"Is it true that the conversation was of such a pleasant subject?"

"It was," answered Krysia, in an undertone.

"I shall be delighted to hear your opinion."

"Pardon me, for I lack courage and wit, so I think that I should rather hear something new from you."

"Krysia is right," said Zagloba. "Let us listen."

"Ask a question," said Ketling. And raising his eyes somewhat, he meditated a little, then, although no one had questioned him, he began to speak, as if to himself: "Loving is a grievous misfortune; for by loving, a free man becomes a captive. Just as a bird, shot by an arrow, falls it the feet of the hunter, so the man struck by love has no power to escape from the feet of the loved one. To love is to be maimed; for a man, like one blind, does not see the world beyond his love. To love is to mourn; for when do more tears flow, when do more sighs swell the breast? When a man loves, there are neither dresses nor hunts in his head; he is ready to sit embracing his knees with his arms, sighing as plaintively as if he had lost some one near to him. Love is an illness; for in it, as in illness, the face becomes pale, the eyes sink, the hands tremble, the fingers grow thin, and the man thinks of death, or goes around in derangement, with dishevelled hair, talks with the moon, writes gladly the cherished name on the sand, and if the wind blows it away, he says, 'misfortune,' and is ready to sob."

Here Ketling was silent for a while; one would have said that he was sunk in musing. Krysia listened to his words with her whole soul, as if they were a song. Her lips were parted, and her eyes did not leave the pale face of the knight. Basia's forelock fell to her eyes, hence it could not be known what she was thinking of; but she sat in silence also.

Then Zagloba yawned loudly, drew a deep breath, stretched his legs, and said, "Give command to make boots for dogs of such love!"

"But yet," began the knight, anew, "if it is grievous to love, it is more grievous still not to love; for who without love is satisfied with pleasure, glory, riches, perfumes, or jewels? Who will not say to the loved one, 'I choose thee rather than a kingdom, than a sceptre, than health or long life'? And since each would give life for love willingly, love has more value than life." Ketling finished.