ski and Stankyevich; some nobles and Kmita, — but he is uncertain."
"God grant him! — By God's mercy! — Too few, too few."
"These Hungarians are as good as two regiments, old soldiers and tried. But wait! They are lighting the matches at the cannon; it looks like a battle!"
Yan and Stanislav were silent; Zagloba was writhing as in a fever, —
"Slay the traitors! Slay the dog-brothers! Ai, Kmita! Kmita! All depends on him. Is he daring?"
"As the devil, — ready for anything."
"It must be that he will take our side."
"Mutiny in the army! See to what the hetman has brought things!" cried Volodyovski.
"Who is the mutineer, — the army, or the hetman who rose against his own king?" asked Zagloba.
"God will judge that. Wait! Again there is a movement! Some of Kharlamp's dragoons take the part of the Hungarians. The very best nobles serve in that regiment. Hear how they shout!"
"The colonels! the colonels!" cried threatening voices in the yard.
"Pan Michael! by the wounds of God, cry to them to send for your squadron and for the armored regiment and the hussars."
"Be silent!"
Zagloba began to shout himself: "But send for the rest of the Polish squadrons, and cut down the traitors!"
"Be silent there!"
Suddenly, not in the yard, but in the rear of the castle, rang forth a sharp salvo of muskets.
"Jesus Mary!" cried Volodyovski.
"Pan Michael, what is that?"
"Beyond doubt they have shot Stahovich and the two officers who went as a deputation," said Volodyovski, feverishly. "It cannot be otherwise!"
"By the passion of our Lord! Then there is no mercy. It is impossible to hope."
The thunder of shots drowned further discourse. Pan Michael grasped the grating convulsively and pressed his forehead to it, but for a while he could see nothing except the legs of the Scottish infantry stationed at the window. Salvos of musketry grew more and more frequent; at last the cannon were heard. The dry knocking of bullets
