turned with somewhat uncertain step toward his room, repeating in an undertone, —
"An amiable lord! A worthy lord! A more honest one could not be found with a lantern, — gold, pure gold! I would gladly shed my blood for him!"
Meanwhile the cousins foud themselves alone. They had something yet to talk over, and besides, certain letters came; a page was sent to bring these from Ganhoff.
"Evidently," said Yanush, "there is not a word of truth in what you reported of Kmita?"
"Evidently. You know best yourself. But, well? Acknowledge, was not Mazarin right? With one move to take terrible vengeance on an enemy, and to make a breach in that beautiful fortress, — well, who could do that? This is called intrigue worthy of the first court in the world! But that Panna Billevich is a pearl, and charming too, lordly and distinguished as if of princely blood. I thought I should spring from my skin."
"Remember that you have given your word, — remember that he will ruin us if he publishes those letters."
"What brows! What a queenly look, so that respect seizes one! Whence is there such a girl, such well-nigh royal majesty? I saw once in Antwerp, splendidly embroidered on Gobelin tapestry Diana hunting the curious Actæon with dogs. She was like this one as cup is like cup."
"Look out that Kmita does not publish the letters, for then the dogs would gnaw us to death."
"Not true! I will turn Kmita into an Actæon, and hunt him to death. I have struck him down on two fields, and it will come to battle between us yet."
Further conversation was interrupted by the entrance of a page with a letter. The voevoda of Vilna took the letter in his hand and made the sign of the cross. He did that always to guard against evil tidings; then, instead of opening, he began to examine it carefully. All at once his countenance changed.
"Sapyeha's arms are on the seal!" exclaimed he; "it is from the voevoda of Vityebsk."
"Open quickly!" said Boguslav.
The hetman opened and began to read, interrupting himself from time to time with exclamations.
"He is marching on Podlyasye! He asks if I have no messages for Tykotsin! An insult to me! Still worse; for listen to what he writes further, —
