"The prince has not closed an eye all night, for two envoys have come. Evil are the tidings, increasingly evil. Karl Gustav has already entered the Commonwealth after Wittemberg; Poznan is now occupied, all Great Poland is occupied, Mazovia will be occupied soon; the Swedes are in Lovich, right at Warsaw. Our king has fled from Warsaw, which he left undefended. To-day or to-morrow the Swedes will enter. They say that the king has lost a considerable battle, that he thinks of escaping to Cracow, and thence to foreign lands to ask aid. Evil, gracious gentlemen, my benefactors! Though there are some who say that it is well; for the Swedes commit no violence, observe agreements sacredly, collect no imposts, respect liberties, do not hinder the faith. Therefore all accept the protection of Karl Gustav willingly. For our king, Yan Kazimir, is at fault, greatly at fault. All is lost, lost for him! One would like to weep, but all is lost, lost!"
"Why the devil do you wriggle like a mudfish going to the pot/' howled Zagloba, "and speak of a misfortune as if you were glad of it?"
Harasimovich pretended not to hear, and raising his eyes to heaven he repeated yet a number of times: "All is lost, lost for the ages! The Commonwealth cannot stand against three wars. Lost! The will of God, the will of God! Our prince alone can save Lithuania."
The ill-omened words had not yet ceased to sound when Harasimovich vanished behind the door as quickly as if he had sunk through the earth, and the knights sat in gloom bent by the weight of terrible thoughts.
"We shall go mad!" cried Volodyovski at last.
"You are right," said Stanislav. "God give war, war at the earliest, — war in which a man does not ruin himself in thinking, nor yield his soul to despair, but fights."
"We shall regret the first period of Hmelnitski's war," said Zagloba; "for though there were defeats then, there were no traitors."
"Three such terrible wars, when in fact there is a lack of forces for one," said Stanislav.
"Not a lack of forces, but of spirit. The country is perishing through viciousness. God grant us to live to something better!" said Pan Yan, gloomily.
"We shall not rest till we are in the field," said Stanislav.
"If we can only see this prince soon!" cried Zagloba.
Their wishes were accomplished directly; for after an
