"The Poles," wrote an old chronicler, "go to Russia for skirmishes with Tartars."1
So from Mazovia went peasants; daring nobles went also, for each one of whom it was shameful "to die in his bed like a peasant." And there grew up in those red lands mighty magnates, who, not satisfied with action even there, went frequently much farther-to Wallachia, or the Crimea, seeking victory, power, death, salvation, and glory.
It was even said that the Poles did not wish one great war that would end the whole question. Though this was not true, still, continual disturbance was dear to that daring generation-but the invader on his part paid with blood dearly for his venture.
Neither the Dobrudja nor Belgorod lands, nor the Crimean reed barrens could support their wild Tartar denizens, hence hunger drove them to the border where rich booty was waiting, but death was waiting also, very often.
The flames of fire lighted up invasions unknown yet to history. Single regiments cut into bits with their sabres and trampled into dust under horsehoofs detachments surpassing them tenfold in number. Only swiftness beyond reckoning could save the invaders; in general when a Tartar band was overtaken by troops of the Commonwealth it was lost beyond rescue.
There were expeditions, especially the smaller ones, from which not one man went back to the Crimea. Terrible in their time both to Turks and to Tartars were Pretvits and Hmieletski; knights of less note, Volodyovski, Pelka, and the elder Rushits, wrote their names down with blood in men's memories. These for some years, or some tens of years, at that time, were resting in their graves and in glory; but even of the mighty ones none had drawn so much blood from the followers of Islam as the king reigning then, Yan Sobieski.
At Podhaitsi, Kalush, Hotsim, and Lvoff there were lying till that time unburied such piles of pagan bones that broad fields beneath them were as white as if snow-covered. At last on all hordes there was terror. The borders drew breath then, and when the insatiable Turk began to seek lighter conquests the whole tortured Commonwealth breathed with more freedom.
There remained only painful remembrances.
Far away from Pan Serafin's dwelling, and next to the castle of Pomorani, stood a tall cross on a hill, and two lances upon it. Twenty and some years before that Pan Gideon had placed this cross on the site of his fire-consumed mansion, hence, as he thought of that cross and of all those lives dear to him which had been lost in that region, the heart whined in the old man from anguish.
But since he was stern to himself and to others, and would not shed tears before strangers, and could not endure paltry pity from any man, he would not speak longer of his misfortunes, and fell to inquiring of his host how he lived in that forest inheritance.
"Here," said Pan Serafin, "is stillness, oh, stillness! When the forest is not sounding, and the wolves are not howling, thou canst almost hear snow fall. There is calmness, there is fire in the chimney and a pitcher of heated wine in the evening-old age needs nothing further."
"True. But your son?"
"A young bird leaves the nest sometimes. And here certain trees whisper that a great war with the pagan is approaching."
"To that war even gray falcons will hasten. Were it not for this, I should fly with the others."
Here Pan Gideon shook his coat sleeve, in which there was only a bit of his arm near the shoulder.
And Pan Serafin poured out heated wine to him.
"To the success of Christian weapons!"
"God grant it! Drink to the bottom."
Stanislav entertained at the same time Pani Vinnitski, Panna Anulka, and the four Bukoyemskis with a pitcher of wine which steamed quite as actively as the other. The ladies touched the glasses however with their lips very sparingly, but the Bukoyemskis needed no urging, hence the world seemed to them more joyous each moment, and Panna Anulka more beautiful, so, unable to find words to express their delight, they began to look at one another with amazement and panting; then each nudged another with his elbow. Mateush at last found expression, -
"We are not to wonder that the wolves wished to try the bones and the body of this lady, for even a wild beast knows a real tid-bit!"
Marek, Lukash, and Yan, the three remaining Bukoyemskis slapped their thighs then in ecstasy.
"He has hit the nail on the head, he has! A tid-bit! Nothing short of it!"
"A Saint Martin's cake!"
On hearing this Panna Anulka laid one hand on the other, and, feigning terror, said to Stanislav, -
"Oh, help me, for I see that these gentlemen only saved me from the wolves to eat me themselves."
"Gracious maiden," said Stanislav, joyfully, "Pan Mateush said that we were not to wonder at the wolves, but I say I do not wonder at the Bukoyemskis."
"What shall I do then, except to ask who will save me?"
"Trifle not with sacred subjects!" cried Pani Vinnitski.
"Well, but these gentlemen are ready to eat me and also auntie. Are they not?"
This question remained for some time without answer. Moreover, it was easy to note from the faces of the brothers that they had much less desire for the additional eating. But Lukash, who had quicker wit than his brothers, now added, "Let Mateush speak; he is the eldest."
Mateush was somewhat bothered, and answered, "Who knows what will meet him to-morrow?"
"A good remark," said Stanislav, "but to what do you apply it?"
"How to what?"
"Why, nothing. I only ask, why mention to-morrow?"
"But knowest thou that love is worse than a wolf, for a man may kill a wolf, but to kill love is beyond him."
"I know, but that again is another question."
"But if there be wit enough, a question is nothing."
"In that case may God give us wit."
Panna Anulka hid her laughter behind her palm; after her laughed Stanislav, and then the Bukoyemskis. Further word-play was stopped by a servant announcing the supper.
Pan Serafin gave his arm to Pani Vinnitski; after them went Pan Gideon; Stanislav conducted Panna Anulka.
"A dispute with Pan Bukoyemski is difficult," said the young lady, made gladsome.
"For his reasons are like wilful horses, each goes its own way; but he has told two truths which are hard of denial."
"What is the first one?"
"That no man knows what will meet him on the morrow, just as yesterday I did not know, for example, that to-day I should see you."
"And the other?"
"That a man can kill a wolf, but to kill love is beyond him. This also is a great truth."
Stanislav sighed; the young lady lowered her shady eyelashes and was silent. Only after a while, when they were sitting at the table, did she say to him, -
"But you will come, gentlemen, soon to my guardian's, so that he may show you some gratitude for saving us and for your hospitality also?"
The gloomy feelings of Pan Gideon brightened notably at supper, and when the host in splendid phrases proposed first the health of the ladies and that of the honored guest afterward, the old noble answered very cordially, thanking for the rescue from difficult straits, and giving assurance of never-ending gratitude.
After that they conversed of public questions, of the king, of the Diet which was to meet the May following of the war with which the Turkish Sultan was threatening the German Empire, and for which that Knight of Malta, Pan Lyubomirski, was bringing in volunteers.
The four brothers listened with no slight curiosity, because every Pole was received with open arms among Germans; since the Turks despised German cavalry, while Polish horsemen roused proper terror.
Pan Gideon blamed Lyubomirski's pride somewhat, since he spoke of German counts thuswise: "Ten of them could find place in one glove of mine;" still, he praised the man's knightliness, boundless daring, and great skill in warfare.
On hearing this, Lukash Bukoyemski declared for himself and his brothers that in spring they would hasten to Lyubomirski, but while the frost raged they would kill wolves, and avenge the young lady, as behooved them.
"For, though we are not to wonder at the wolves," said Mateush, "when one thinks that such a pure dove might have been turned into wolf's meat the heart flies to the throat from pure anger, and at the same time it is hard to keep tears down. What a pity that wolf skins are so low-priced, – the Jews give barely one thaler for three of them! – but it is hard to keep our tears down, and even better to give way to them, for whoso could not compassionate innocence and virtue would be a savage, whom no man should name as a knight and a noble."
In fact, he gave way to his tears then, as did his three brothers; though wolves in the worst case could threaten only the life, not the virtue of the lady, still the eloquence of Lukash so moved his three brothers that their hearts became soft as warmed wax while they listened. They wished to shoot in the air from their pistols in honor of the young lady; but the host opposed, saying that he had a sick forester in the mansion, a man of great merit, who needed silence.
Pan Gideon, who supposed this to be some reduced relative of Pan Serafin, or in the worst case a village noble, inquired touching him, through politeness; but on learning that he was a serving-man and a peasant he shrugged his shoulders and looked with displeased and wondering eyes at Pan Serafin.
"Oh yes!" said he. "I forgot what people say of your marvellous kindness."
"God grant," answered Pan Serafin, "that they say nothing worse of me. I have to thank this man for much; and may every one meet such a person, for he knows herbs very thoroughly and can give aid in every illness."
"I wonder, since he cures others so ably, that he has not cured himself thus far. Send him my relative, Pani Vinnitski, – she knows many simples, and presses them on people; but meanwhile permit us to think of retiring, for the road has fatigued me most cruelly, and the wine has touched me also a trifle, just as it has the Bukoyemskis."
In fact, the heads of the Bukoyemskis were steaming, while the eyes of those brothers were mist-covered and tender; so when Pan Stanislav conducted them to another building, where they were to pass the night together, they followed him with most uncertain tread on frozen snow, which squeaked under them. They wondered why the moon, instead of shining in the heavens, was perched on the roof of a barn and was smiling.
But Panna Anulka had dropped into their hearts so profoundly that they wished to speak more of her.
Pan Stanislav, who felt no great wish for sleep, directed to bring a thick-bellied bottle; then they sat near the broad chimney, and, by the bright light of the torch, drank in silence at first, listening only to the crickets in the chamber. At last Mateush filled his breast well with air and blew with such force at the chimney that the flame bent before him.
"O Jesus! My dear brothers," cried he, "weep, for a sad fate has met me."
"What fate? Speak, do not hide thy condition!"
"It is this. I am so in love that the knees are weakening under me!"
"And I? Dost think that I am not in love?" shouted Marek.
"And I?" screamed out Lukash.
"And I," ended Yan.
Mateush wanted to give them an answer of some kind, but could not at first, for a hiccough had seized him. He only stared with great wonderment, and looked as if he saw them for the first time in life at that moment. Then rage was depicted on his countenance.
"How is this, O sons of a such a one?" cried he, "ye wish to block the road to your eldest brother, and deprive him of happiness?"
"O indeed!" answered Marek, "what does this mean? Is Panna Anulka an entail of some kind, that only the eldest brother can get her? We are sons of one father and mother, so if thou call us sons of a such a one, thou art blaming thy father and mother. Each man is free to love as he chooses."
"Free, but woe to you, for ye are all bound to me in obedience."
"Must we all our lives serve a horseskull? Hei?"
"O pagan, thou art barking like a dog!"
"Thou art thyself doing that. Jacob was younger than Esau, and Joseph was younger than all his brothers, so thou art blaming the Scriptures, and barking against true religion."
Pushed to the wall by these arguments, Mateush could not find an answer with promptness, and when Yan made some remark touching Cain, the first brother, he lost his head utterly. Anger rose in him higher and higher, till at last he began with his right hand to search for the sabre which he had not there with him. It is unknown to what it would have come had not Yan, who for some time had been pressing a finger to his forehead, as if wrestling with an idea, cried out in a great voice, and suddenly, -
"I am the youngest brother, I am Joseph, so Panna Anulka is for me. undisputedly."
The others turned to him straightway. From their eyes were shooting fire sparks, in their faces was indignation.
"What? For thee? For thee! thou goose egg! thou straw scarecrow, thou horse strangler, thou dry slipper-thou drunkard! For thee?"
"Shut thy mouth, it is written in the Scriptures."
"What Scriptures, thou dunce?"
"All the same-but it is there. Ye are drunk, not I."
But at this moment Pan Stanislav happened in among them.
"Ah, is it not a shame for you," said he, "being nobles and brothers to raise such a quarrel? Is this the way to nourish love among brothers? But about what are ye fighting? Is Panna Anulka a mushroom that the first man who finds her in the forest can put her in his basket? It is the custom among pelicans, and they are not nobles, or even people, to yield everything through family affection, and when they fail to find fish they feed one another with blood from their own bodies. Think of your dead parents; they are shedding tears up there now over this quarrelling among sons whom they surely advised to act differently from this when they blessed them. For those parents heavenly food is now tasteless, and they dare not raise their eyes to the Evangelists whose names they gave you in holy baptism."
Thus spoke Pan Stanislav and though at first he wished to laugh he was touched as he spoke by his own words, for he too had drunk somewhat because of the company at dinner. At last the Bukoyemskis were greatly moved by his speech, and all four of them ended in tears, while Mateush the eldest one cried to them, -
"Oh kill me, for God's sake, but call me not Cain!"
Thereupon Yan, who had mentioned Cain, threw himself into the arms of Mateush.
"Oh, brother," cried he, "give me to the hangman for doing so."
"Forgive me, or I shall burst open from sorrow," cried Marek.
"I have barked like a dog against the commandment," said Lukash.
And they fell to embracing one another, but Mateush freed himself finally from his brothers, sat on a bench very suddenly, unbuttoned his coat, threw open his shirt, and, baring his breast, exclaimed in broken accents, -
"Here ye have me! here, like a pelican!"
Thereupon they sobbed the more loudly.
"A pelican! a genuine pelican! As God is dear to me, – a pelican!"
"Take Panna Anulka."
"She is thine! Take her, thou," said the brothers.
"Let the youngest man have her."
"Never! Impossible!"
"Devil take her!"
"Devil take her!"
"We don't want her!"
Hereupon Marek struck his thighs with his palms till the chamber resounded.
"I know what's to be done," cried he.
"What dost thou know? Speak, do not hide it!"
"Let Stanislav have her!"
When they heard this the other three sprang from their benches. Marek's idea struck them to the heart so completely that they surrounded Pan Stanislav.
"Take her, Stashko!"
"It will please us most of all."
"If thou love us!"
"Do this to please us!"
"May God bless you!" cried Mateush; and he raised his eyes heavenward, as he stretched his hands over Stanislav.
Stanislav blushed, and he stood there astonished, repeating, -
"Fear God's wounds!"
But his heart quivered at the thought, for having passed two whole years with his father amid the dense forests, and seeing few people, he had not met for a legion of days such a marvellous maiden. He had seen some one like her in Brejani, for he had been sent by his father to gain elegance at the court there and a knowledge of government. But he was a lad then, and time had effaced those remote recollections. And now he saw in the midst of those forests unexpectedly just such a beautiful flower as the other one, and men said to him straightway: "Oh take it!" In view of this he was dreadfully shamefaced and answered, -
"Fear God! How could ye or I get her?"
But they, as is usual with men who are tipsy, saw no obstacle to anything and insisted.
"No man of us will be jealous," said Marek, "take her! We must go to the war whatever happens; we have had watching enough in this forest. Thirty thalers for the whole God-given year. It does not buy drink for us, and what is there left then for clothing? We sold our saddle beasts, and now we hunt wolves with thy horses and outfits-A hard lot for orphans. Better perish in war-But take her thou, if thou love us!"
"Take her!" cried out Mateush, "but we will go to Rakuz, to Lyubomirski, to help the Germans in shelling out pagans."
"Take her immediately."
"Take her to-morrow! To the church with her straightway!"
But Stanislav had recovered from astonishment and was as sober as if he had not touched a drop since the morning.
"Oh, stop, what are ye saying? Just as if only your will or mine were all that is needed! But what will she say and what will Pan Gideon say? Pan Gideon is self-willed and haughty. Even though the young lady grew friendly in time, he might prefer to see her sow rue than be the wife of any poor devil like me, or like any one of you brothers."
"Oh pshaw!" exclaimed Yan. "Is Pan Gideon the Castellan of Cracow, or grand hetman? If he is too high for us let him beware how he thrusts up his nose in our presence. Are the Bukoyemskis too small to be his gossips?"
"Ah, never mind! He is old, the time of his death is not distant, let him have a care lest he be stopped by Saint Peter in heaven's gateway. Oh take our part! holy Peter, and say this to him: 'Thou didst not know during life, thou son of a such a one, how to respect my blood relatives; kiss now the dog's snout for thy conduct.' Let that be said after death to Pan Gideon. But meanwhile we will not let him belittle us in his lifetime."
"How! because we have no fortune must we be despised and treated like peasants?"
"Is that the pay for our blood, for our wounds, for our service to the country?"
"O my brothers, ye orphans of God! many an injustice has met you, but one more grievous than this no man has ever yet put on us."
"That is true, that is true!" exclaimed Lukash and Marek and Yan in sad accents.
And tears of grief flowed down their faces afresh and abundantly, but when they had wept out their fill they fell to storming, for it seemed to them that such an offence to men of birth should not be forgotten.
Lukash, the most impulsive of all the four brothers, was the first to make mention of this matter.
"It is difficult to challenge him to sabres," said he, "for he has lost an arm and is old, but if he has contemned us, we must have satisfaction. What are we to do? Think of this!"
"My feet have been frozen to-night," said Lukash, "and are burning tremendously. But for this, I could think out a remedy."
"My feet are not burning, but my head is on fire," added Marek.
"From that which is empty thou wilt never pour anything."
"Gland is blamed always by Katchan!" said Mateush.
"Ye give a quarrel instead of an answer!" cried Lukash. But Stanislav interrupted; -
"An answer?" said he, "but to whom?"
"To Pan Gideon."
"An answer to what?"
"To what? How 'to what'?"
They looked at one another, with no small astonishment, and then turned to Lukash, -
"What dost thou wish of us?"
"But what do ye wish of me?"
"Adjourn this assembly till daylight," said Stanislav. "The fire here is dying, midnight is past now a long time. The beds are all ready at the walls there, and rest is ours honestly, for we have worked in the frost very faithfully."
The fire had gone out; it was dark in the chamber, so the advice of the host had power to convince the four brothers. Conversation continued some little time yet, but with decreasing intensity. Somewhat later a whispered "Our Father" was heard, at one moment louder, at another one lower, interrupted now and then with deep sighing.
The coals in the chimney began to grow dark and be covered with ashes; at moments something squeaked near the fire, and the crickets chirped sadly in the corners, as if mourning for the light which had left them. Next the sound of boots cast from feet to the floor, after that a short interval of silence, and then immense snoring from the four sleeping brothers.
But Stanislav could not sleep, all his thoughts whirled about Panna Anulka, like active bees about blossoms.
How could a man sleep with such a buzzing in his cranium! He closed his lids, it is true, once and a second time, but finding that useless he pondered.
"I will see if there is light in her chamber," thought he, finally.
And he passed through the doorway.
There was no light in her windows, but the gleam of the moon quivered on the uneven panes as on wrinkled water. The world was silent, and sleeping so soundly that even the snow seemed to slumber in the bath of greenish moonlight.
"Dost thou know that I am dreaming of thee?" asked Stanislav in a whisper, as he looked at the silent window.
The elder Tsyprianovitch, Pan Serafin, in accordance with his inborn hospitality, and his habit, spared neither persuasion nor pressing to detain his guests longer in Yedlinka. He even knelt before Pani Vinnitski, an act which did not come easily because of his gout, which, though moderate so far, was somewhat annoying. All that, however, availed not. Pan Gideon insisted on going before midday, and at last, since there was no answer to the statement that he was looking for guests at his mansion, Pan Serafin had to yield, and they started that clear frosty forenoon of wonderful weather. The snow on the fields, and on tree branches, seemed covered with myriads of fire sparks, which so glittered in the sunlight that the eye could barely suffer the gleams shooting back from the earth and the forest. The horses moved at a vigorous trot till their flanks panted; the sleigh runners whistled along the snow road; the carriage curtains were pushed back on both sides, and now at one window and now at the other appeared the rosy face of the young lady with gladsome eyes and a nose which the frost had reddened somewhat, a charming framed picture.
She advanced like a queen, for the carriage was encircled by a "life guard" made up of the Bukoyemskis and Pan Stanislav. The four brothers were riding strong beasts from the Yedlinka stables (they had sold or pledged not only their horses but the best of their sabres). They rushed on now at the side, sometimes forcing their horses to rear, and sometimes urging them on with such impetus that balls torn from the frozen snow by their hoofs shot away whistling through the air like stone missiles.
Perhaps Pan Gideon was not greatly charmed with these body-guards, for during the advance he begged the cavaliers not to give themselves trouble, since the road in the daytime was safe, and of robbers in the forest no report had arisen; but when they had insisted on conducting the ladies, nothing was left him but to pay for politeness with politeness, and invite them to Belchantska. Pan Gideon had a promise also from Pan Serafin to visit him, but only after some days, since it was difficult for an old man to tear himself free of his household abruptly.
For the men, this journey passed quickly in wonders of horsemanship, and for Panna Anulka in appearing at the windows. The first halt to give rest to their horses was half-way on the road, at a forest inn which bore the ill omened name "Robbery." Next the inn stood a shed and the shop of a blacksmith. In front of his shop the blacksmith was shoeing some horses. At the side of the inn were seen sleighs owned by peasants; to these were attached lean, rough-coated sorry little beasts covered over completely with hoar frost; their tails were between their hind-legs, and bags of oats were tied under their noses.
People crowded out of the inn to look at the carriage surrounded by cavaliers and remained at a distance. These were not land tillers but potters, who made their pots at Kozenitse in the summer and took them in sleighs to sell during winter in the villages; but they appeared more especially at festivals through the country. These people, thinking that some man of great dignity must be travelling in a carriage with such an escort, took their caps off in spite of the weather and looked with curiosity at the party.
The warmly dressed travellers did not leave the equipage. The attendants remained mounted, but a page took wine in a decanter to the inn to be heated. Meanwhile Pan Gideon beckoned "the bark shoes" to come to him, and then he fell to inquiring whence they came, whither they were going, and was there no danger from wild beasts in any place.
"Of course there is," answered an old town-dweller, "but we travel during daylight and in company. We are waiting here for friends from Prityk and other places. Perhaps too some earth tillers will come, and if fifteen or twenty sleighs appear, we will move on at night. Unless they come we will not start, though we take clubs with us."
"But has no accident happened about here?"
"The wolves ate a Jew during daylight. He was taking geese, as it seems, for on the road were found bones of a horse and a man, – besides, there were goose feathers. People knew by his cap that the man was a Jew. But early this morning some man came hither on foot, a young noble, who passed the whole night on a pine tree. He says that his horse dropped down dead, and there before his eyes the wolves ate the beast up. This man grew so stiff on the tree that he had barely strength to speak to us, and now he is sleeping."
"What is his name? Did he tell whence he came?"
"No. He just drank some hot beer and fell on a bench as if lifeless."
Pan Gideon turned then to the horsemen, -
"Have ye heard that?"
"We have."
"We must rouse the man, and make inquiries. He has no horse, how could we leave him alone here? My page could sit on the second front carriage horse, and give up his own. They say that the man is a noble. Perhaps he is here from a distance."
"He must be in a hurry," said Pan Stanislav, "since he was travelling at night, and besides without company. I will rouse him and make inquiry."
But his plan proved superfluous, since at that moment the page returned from the inn with a tray on which mugs of hot wine were steaming.
"I beg to tell your grace that Pan Tachevski is here," began he on reaching the carriage.
"Pan Tachevski? What the devil is he doing in this place?"
"Pan Tachevski!" repeated Panna Anulka.
"He is making ready, and will come out this minute," said the page. "He almost knocked the tray from my hand when he heard of your coming-"
"But who spoke of the tray to thee?"
The page became silent immediately, as if power of speech had deserted him.
Pan Gideon seized a goblet of wine, took one and a second draught, and said then to Pan Stanislav, as if with a certain repulsion, -
"He is an acquaintance of ours, and in some sense a neighbor from Charny- Well-rather giddy and unreliable-of those Tachevskis who long ago were, as some people say, of some note in the province."
Further explanations were stopped by Tachevski, who, coming out hurriedly, walked with firm stride toward the carriage, but on his face was a certain hesitation. He was a young noble of medium stature. He had splendid dark eyes, and was as lean as a splinter. His head was covered with a Hungarian cap, recalling, one might say, the time of King Bátory; he wore a gray coat lined with sheepskin, and long, yellow, Swedish boots reaching up to his body. No one wore such boots then in Poland. They had been taken during war in the days of Yan Kazimir, that was evident, and brought now through need from the storehouse by Tachevski. While approaching, he looked first at Pan Gideon, then at the young lady, and smiled, showing white, perfect teeth, but his smile was rather gloomy, his face showed embarrassment and even a trace of confusion.
"I rejoice beyond measure," said he, as he stood at the carriage and removed his cap gracefully, "to see, in good health, Pani Vinnitski and Panna Sieninski, with your grace, my benefactor, for the road is now dangerous; this I have learned from experience."
"Cover your head, or your ears will be frozen," said Pan Gideon, abruptly. "I thank you for the attention, but why are you wandering through the wilderness?"
Tachevski looked quickly at the young lady, as if to inquire: "Thou knowst why, dost thou not?" but seeing her eyes downcast, and noting also that she was biting a ribbon of her hood for occupation, he answered in a voice of some harshness, -
"Well, the fancy struck me to gaze at the moon above pine trees."
"A pretty fancy. But did the wolves kill thy horse?"
"They only ate him, for I myself drove his life out."
"We know. And thou wert roosting, like a crow, all the night in a pine tree."
Here the Bukoyemskis burst into such mighty laughter that their horses were put on their haunches. Tachevski turned and measured them one after another, with glances which were ice cold and as sharp as a sword edge.
"Not like a crow," said he then to Pan Gideon, "but like a horseless noble, at which condition it is granted you, my benefactor, to laugh, but it may be unhealthy for another to do so."
"Oho! oho! oho!" repeated the Bukoyemskis, urging toward him their horses. Their faces grew dark in one moment, and their mustaches quivered. Again Tachevski measured them, and raised his head higher.
But Pan Gideon spoke with a voice as severe and commanding as if he had power over all of them.
"No quarrels here, I beg! This is Pan Tachevski," said he after a while, with more mildness, turning to the cavaliers, "and this is Pan Tsyprianovitch, and each of the other four nobles is a Pan Bukoyemski, to whom I may say we owe our lives, for wolves met us yesterday. These gentlemen came to our aid unexpectedly, and God knows in season."