Генрик Сенкевич
On the Field of Glory
CHAPTER V
"He will not come back! All is lost!" exclaimed Panna Anulka to herself at the first moment.
And a marvellous thing! There were five men in that mansion, one of whom was young and presentable; and besides Pan Grothus, the starosta, Pan Serafin was expected. In a word, rarely had there been so many guests at Belchantska. Meanwhile it seemed to the young lady that a vacuum had surrounded her suddenly, and that some immense want had come with it; that the mansion was empty, the garden empty, and that she herself was as much alone as if in an unoccupied steppe land, and that she would continue to be thus forever.
Hence her heart was as straitened with merciless sorrow as if she had lost one who was nearest of all to her. She felt sure that Yatsek would not return, all the more since her guardian had offended him mortally; still, she could not imagine how it would be without him, without his face, his laughter, his words, his glances. What would happen to-morrow, after to-morrow, next week, next month? For what would she rise from her bed every morning? Why would she arrange her tresses? For whom would she dress and curl her hair? For what was she now to live?
And she had a feeling as if her heart had been a candle which some one had quenched by blowing it out on a sudden. There was nothing save darkness and a vacuum.
But when she entered the room and saw that Hungarian cap on the floor, all those indefinite feelings gave way to an enormous and simple yearning for Yatsek. Her heart grew warm in her again, and she began to call him by name. Therewith a certain gleam of hope flew through her spirit. Raising the cap she pressed it to her bosom unwittingly; then she put it in her sleeve and began to think thuswise: "He will not come as hitherto daily, but before the return of Pan Grothus and my guardian from Yedlinka, he must come for his cap, so I shall see him and say that he was unjust and cruel, and that he should not have done what he has done."
But she was not sincere with herself, for she wished to say more, to find some warm, heartfelt word which would join again the threads newly broken between them. If this could happen, if they could meet without anger in the church, or at odd times in the houses of neighbors, means would be found in the future to turn everything to profit. What methods there might be to do this, and what the profit could be, she did not stop to consider at the moment, for beyond all she was thinking how to see Yatsek at the earliest.
Meanwhile Pani Vinnitski came out of the chamber in which the wounded men were then lying, and on seeing the excited face and reddened eyes of the young woman she began thus to quiet her.
"Fear not, no harm will come to them. Only one of the Bukoyemskis is struck a little seriously, but no harm will happen even to that one. The others are injured slightly. Father Voynovski dressed their wounds with such skill that there is no need to change anything. The men too are cheerful and in perfect spirits."
"Thanks be to God!"
"But has Yatsek gone? What did he want here?"
"He brought the wounded men hither-"
"I know, but who would have expected this of him?"
"They themselves challenged him."
"They do not deny that, but he beat all five of them, one after another. One might have thought that a clucking hen could have beaten him."
"Aunt does not know the man," answered Panna Anulka, with a certain pride in her expression.
But in the voice of Pani Vinnitski there was as much admiration as blame; for, born in regions exposed to Tartar inroads at all times, she had learned from childhood to count daring and skill at the sabre as the highest virtues of manhood. So, when the earliest alarm touching the five guests had vanished, she began to look somewhat differently at that duel.
"Still," continued she, "I must confess that they are worthy gentlemen, for not only do they cherish no hatred against him, but they praise him, especially Pan Stanislav. 'That man is a born soldier,' said he. And they were angry every man of them at Pan Gideon, who exceeded the measure, they say, at Vyrambki."
"But aunt did not receive Yatsek better."
"He got the reception which he merited. But didst thou receive him well?"
"I?"
"Yes, thou. I saw how thou didst frown at him."
"My dear aunt-"
Here the girl stopped suddenly, for she felt that unless she did so, she would burst into weeping. Because of this conversation Yatsek had grown in her eyes. He had fought alone against such trained men, had conquered them all, overcome them. He had told her, it is true, that he hunted wild boars with a spear, but peasants at the edge of the wilderness go against them with clubs, so that amazes no one. But to finish five knightly nobles a man must be better and more valiant and skilful than they. It seemed to Panna Anulka simply a marvel that a man who had such mild and sad eyes could be so terrible in battle. To her alone had he yielded; from her alone had he suffered everything; to her alone had he been mild and pliant. Why was this? Because he had loved her beyond his health, beyond happiness, beyond his own soul's salvation. He had confessed that to her an hour earlier. And yearning for him rushed like an immense wave to her heart again. Still, she felt that something between them had changed, and that if she should see him anew, and see him afterward often, she would not permit herself to play with him again as she had played up to that day, now casting him into the abyss, now cheering him, giving him hope, now thrusting him away, now attracting him; she felt that do what she might she would look on him with greater respect, and would be more submissive and cautious.
At moments, however, a voice was heard in her saying that he had acted too peevishly, that he had uttered words more offensive and bitter than she had; but that voice became weaker and weaker, and the wish for reconciliation was growing.
"If he would only return before those men came from Yedlinka!"
Meanwhile an hour passed, then two and three hours. Still, there was no sign from Yatsek. Next it occurred to her that the hour was too late, that he would not come, he would send some one to get the cap. After that she determined to send it to Yatsek with a letter, in which she would explain what was weighing her heart down. And since his messenger might come any moment she, to prepare all things in season, shut herself up in her small maiden chamber and went at the letter.
"May God pardon thee for the suffering and sadness in which thou hast left me, for if thou couldst see my heart thou wouldst not have done what thou hast done. Therefore, I send not only thy cap, but a kind word, so that thou shouldst be happy and forget-"
Here she saw that she was not writing her own thoughts at all, or her wishes, so, drawing her pen through the words, she fell to writing a new letter with more emotion and feeling:
"I send thy cap, for I know that I shall not see thee in this house hereafter, and that thou wilt not weep for any one here, least of all for such an orphan as I am; but neither shall I weep because of thy injustice, though it is sad beyond description-"
But reality showed these words to be false, since sudden tears put blots on the paper. How send a proof of this kind, especially if he had thrown her out of his heart altogether? After a while it occurred to her that it might be better not to write of his injustice, and of his peevish procedure, since, if she did, he would be ready for still greater stubbornness. Thus thinking, she looked for a third sheet of paper, but there was no more in her chamber.
Now she was helpless, for if she borrowed paper of Pani Vinnitski she could not avoid questions impossible of answer; then she felt that she was losing her head, and that in no case could she write to Yatsek that which she wanted to tell him; hence she grew disconsolate and sought, as women do usually, solace in suffering; she gave a free course to her tears again.
Meanwhile night was in front of the entrance, and sleighbells were tinkling-Pan Gideon and his two guests were coming. The servants were lighting the candles in every chamber, for the gloom was increasing. The young lady brushed aside every tear and entered the drawing-room with, a certain timidity; she feared that all would see straightway that she had been weeping, and have, God knows what suspicions, – they might even torment her with questions. But in the drawing-room there were none save Pan Gideon and Pan Grothus. For Pan Serafin she asked straightway, wishing to turn attention from her own person.
"He has gone to his son and the Bukoyemskis," said Pan Gideon, "but I pacified him on the road by showing that nothing evil had happened."
Then he looked at her carefully, but his face, gloomy at most times, and his gray, severe eyes were bright with a sort of exceptional kindness. Approaching, he placed his hand on the bright head of the maiden.
"There is no need for thee to be troubled," said he. "In a couple of days they will be well, every man of them. We need say no more. We owe them gratitude, it is true, and hence I was anxious about them, but really, they are strangers to us, and of rather lowly condition."
"Lowly condition?" repeated she, as an echo, and merely to say something.
"Why, yes, for the Bukoyemskis have nothing whatever, and Pan Stanislav is a homo novus. For that matter, what are they to me! They will go their way, and the same quiet will be in this house as has been here hitherto."
Panna Anulka thought to herself that there would be great quiet indeed, for there would be only three in the mansion; but she gave no expression to that thought.
"I will busy myself with the supper," said she.
"Go, housewife, go!" said Pan Gideon. "Because of thee there is joy in the household, and profit-and have a silver service brought on," added he, "to show this Pan Serafin that good plate is found not alone among newly made noble Armenians."
Panna Anulka hurried to the servants' apartments. She wished before supper to finish another affair most important for her, so she summoned a serving-lad, and said to him, -
"Listen, Voitushko; run to Vyrambki and tell Pan Tachevski that the young lady sends this cap, and bows very much to him. Here is a coin for thee, and repeat what thou art to tell him."
"The young lady sends the cap and bows to him."
"Not that she bows, but that she bows very much to him-dost understand?"
"I understand."
"Then stir! And take an overcoat, for the frost bites in the night-time. Let the dogs go with thee, too-that she bows very much, remember. And come back at once-unless Pan Tachevski gives an answer."
Having finished that affair she withdrew to the kitchen to busy herself at the supper which was then almost ready since they had been expecting guests with Pan Gideon. Then, after she had dressed and arranged her hair, she entered the dining-hall.
Pan Sarafin greeted her kindly, for her beauty and youth had pleased his heart greatly at Yedlinka. Since he had been put quite at rest touching Stanislav, when they were seated at the table he began to speak with her joyously, endeavoring, even with jests, to scatter that shade of seriousness which he saw on her forehead, and the cause of which he attributed specially to the duel.
But for her the supper was not to end without incident, since immediately after the second course Voitushko stood at the door of the dining-hall and cried out, as he blew his chilled fingers, -
"I beg the young lady's attention. I left the cap, but Pan Tachevski is not in Vyrambki, for he drove away with Father Voynovski."
Pan Gideon on hearing these words was astonished; he frowned, and fixed his iron eyes on the serving-lad.
"What is this?" asked he. "What cap? Who sent thee to Vyrambki?"
"The young lady," answered the lad with timidity.
"I sent him," said Panna Anulka.
And seeing that all eyes were turned on her she was dreadfully embarrassed, but the elusive wit of a woman soon came to her assistance.
"Pan Yatsek attended the wounded men hither," said she; "but since auntie and I received him with harshness he was angry and flew away home without his cap, so I sent the cap after him."
"Indeed, we did not receive him very charmingly," added Pani Vinnitski.
Pan Gideon drew breath and his face took on a less dreadful expression.
"Ye did well," remarked he. "I myself would have sent the cap, for of course he has not a second one."
But the honest and clever Pan Serafin took the part of Yatsek.
"My son," said he, "has no feeling against him. He and the other gentlemen forced Pan Tachevski to the duel; when it was over he took them to his house, dressed their wounds, and entertained them. The Bukoyemskis say the same, adding that he is an artist at the sabre, who, had he had the wish, might have cut them up in grand fashion. Ha! they wanted to teach him a lesson, and themselves found a teacher. If it is true that His Grace the King is moving against the Turks, such a man as Tachevski will be useful."
Pan Gideon was not glad to hear these words, and added: "Father Voynovski taught him those sword tricks."
"I have seen Father Voynovski only once, at a festival," said Pan Serafin, "but I heard much of him in my days of campaigning. At the festival other priests laughed at him; they said that his house was like the ark, that he cares for all beasts just as Noah did. I know, however, that his sabre was renowned, and that his virtue is famous. If Pan Tachevski has learned sword-practice from him, I should wish my son, when he recovers, not to seek friendship elsewhere."
"They say that the Diet will strive at once to strengthen the army," said Pan Gideon, wishing to change the conversation.
"True, all will work at that," said Pan Grothus.
And the conversation continued on the war. But after supper Panna Anulka chose the right moment, and, approaching Pan Serafin, raised her blue eyes to him.
"You are very kind," said she.
"Why do you say that?" asked Pan Serafin.
"You took the part of Pan Yatsek."
"Whose part?" inquired the old man.
"Pan Tachevski's. His name is Yatsek."
"But you blamed him severely. Why did you blame him?"
"My guardian blamed him still more severely. I confess to you, however, that we did not act justly, and I think that some reparation is due him."
"He would surely be glad to receive it from your hands," said Pan Serafin.
The young lady shook her golden head in sign of disagreement.
"Oh no!" replied she, smiling sadly, "he is angry with us, and forever."
Pan Serafin glanced at her with a genuine fatherly kindness.
"Who in the world, charming flower, could be angry forever with you?"
"Oh! Pan Yatsek could-but as to reparation this is the best reparation in his case: declare to Pan Yatsek that you feel no offence toward him, and that you believe in his innocence. After that my guardian will be forced to do him some justice, and justice from us is due to Pan Yatsek."
"I see that you have not been so very bitter against him, since you are now taking his part with such interest."
"I do so because I feel reproaches of conscience, and I wish no injustice to any man, besides, he is alone in the world, and is in great, very great, poverty."
"I will tell you," answered Pan Serafin, "that in my own mind I have decided as follows: your guardian, as a hospitable neighbor, has declared that he will not let me go till my son has recovered; but both my son and the Bukoyemskis might go home even to-morrow. Still, before I leave here I will visit most surely Pan Yatsek and Father Voynovski, not through any kindness, but because I understand that I owe them this courtesy. I do not say that I am bad, still, I think that if any one in this case is really good you are the person. Do not contradict me!"
She did contradict, for she felt that for her it was not a question merely of justice to Yatsek, but of other affairs, of which Pan Serafin, who knew not her maiden calculations, could know nothing. Her heart, however, rose toward him with gratitude, and when saying good-night she kissed his hand, for which Pan Gideon was angry.
"He is only of the second generation; before that his people were merchants. Remember who thou art!" said the old noble.
CHAPTER VI
Two days later Yatsek went to Radom with the ten ducats to dress himself decently before the journey. Father Voynovski remained at home brooding over this problem: "Whence am I to get money enough for the equipment of a warrior, for a wagon, for horses, a saddle-horse, and an attendant, all of which Yatsek must have if he cares for respect, and does not wish men to consider him nobody?"
Especially did it become Yatsek to appear in that form, since he bore a great, famous name, though somewhat forgotten in the Commonwealth.
A certain day Father Voynovski sat down at his small table, wrinkled his brows till his white hair fell over his forehead, and began then to reckon how much would be needed. His "animalia," that is, the dog Filus, the tame fox, and a badger, were rolling balls near his feet; but he gave them no attention whatever, so tremendously was he occupied and troubled, for the "reckoning" refused to come out in any way, and failed every moment. It failed not merely in details, but in the main principles. The old man rubbed his forehead more and more violently and at last he spoke audibly.
"He took ten ducats with him. Very well; of that, beyond doubt, he will bring nothing back. Let us count farther: from Kondrat, the brewer, five as a loan, from Slonka, three. From Dudu six Prussian thalers and a borrowed saddle-horse, to be paid for in barley if there is a harvest. Total, eight golden ducats, six thalers, and twenty ducats of mine-too little! Even if I should give him the Wallachian as an attendant, that would be, counting his own mount, two horses; and for a wagon two more are needed-and for Yatsek at least two more. It is impossible to go with fewer, for, if one horse should die he must have another. And a uniform for his man, and supplies for the wagon, kettles and cover and camp chest-tfu! He could only join the dragoons with such money."
Then he turned to the animals which were raising a considerable uproar.
"Be quiet, ye traitors, or your hides will be sold to Jew hucksters!"
And again talk began:
"Yatsek is right, he will have to sell Vyrambki. Still, if he does, he will have nothing to answer when any one asks him: 'Whence dost thou come?' 'Whence?' 'From Wind.' 'Which Wind?' 'Wind in the Field.' Immediately every one will slight such a person. It would be better to mortgage the place if a man could be found to give money. Pan Gideon would be the most suitable person, but Yatsek would not hear of Pan Gideon, and I myself would not talk with him on the subject-My God! People are mistaken when they say: 'poor as a church mouse!' A man is often much poorer. A church mouse has Saint Stephen;3 he lives in comfort, and has his wax at all seasons. O Lord Jesus, who multiplied loaves and fishes, multiply these few ruddy ducats, and these few thalers, for to thee, O Lord, nothing will be diminished, and Thou wilt help the last of the Tachevskis."
Then it occurred to him that the Prussian thalers, since they came from a Lutheran country, could rouse only abhorrence in heaven; as to the ducats he hesitated whether to put them under Christ's feet for the night would he find them there multiplied in the morning? He did not feel worthy of a miracle, and even he struck himself a number of times on the breast in repentance for his insolent idea. He could not dwell on this longer, however, for some one had come to the front of his dwelling.
After a while the door opened and a tall, gray haired man entered. He had black eyes and a wise, kindly countenance. The man bowed on the threshold.
"I am Tsyprianovitch of Yedlinka," said he.
"Yes. I saw you in Prityk, at the festival, but only at a distance, for the throng there was great," said the priest, approaching his guest with vivaciousness. "I greet you on my lowly threshold with gladness."
"I have come hither with gladness," answered Pan Serafin. "It is an important and pleasant duty to salute a knight so renowned, and a priest who is so saintly."
Then he kissed the old man on the shoulder and the hand, though the priest warded off these acts, saying, -
"Ho, what saintliness! These beasts here may have before God greater merit than I have."
But Pan Serafin spoke so sincerely and with such simplicity that he won the priest straightway. They began at once, therefore, to speak pleasant words which were heartfelt.
"I know your son," said the priest; "he is a cavalier of worth and noble manners. In comparison, those Bukoyemskis seem simply serving-men. I will say to you that Yatsek Tachevski has conceived such a love for Pan Stanislav that he praises him always."
"And my Stashko treats him in like manner. It happens frequently that men fight and later on love each other. None of us feel offence toward Pan Tachevski, nay, we should like to conclude with him real friendship. I have just been at his house in Vyrambki, expecting to find him. I wished to invite to Yedlinka you, my benefactor, and Pan Tachevski."
"Yatsek is in Radom, but he will return and would be glad, doubtless, to serve you- But have you seen, your grace, how they treated him at Pan Gideon's?"
"They have seen that themselves," said Pan Serafin, "and are sorry, not Pan Gideon, however, but the women."
"There are few men so stubborn as Pan Gideon, and he incurs a serious account before the Lord sometimes for this reason-as for the women-God be with them- Let them go, what is the use in hiding this: that one of them caused the duel?"
"I divined that before my son told me. But the cause is innocent."
"They are all innocent- Do you know what Ecclesiastes says of women?"
Pan Serafin did not know, so the priest took down the Vulgate and read an extract from Ecclesiastes.
"What do you think of that?" asked he.
"There are women even of that kind."
"Yatsek is going into the world for no other cause, and I am far from dissuading him. On the contrary, I advise him to go."
"Do you? Is he going soon? The war will come only next summer."
"Do you know that to a certainty?"
"I do, for I inquired and I inquired because I cannot keep my own son from it."
"No, because he is a noble. Yatsek is going immediately, for, to tell the truth, it is painful for him to remain here."
"I understand, I understand everything. Haste is the best cure in such a case."
"He will stay only as long as may be needed to mortgage Vyrambki, or sell it. It is only a small strip of land. I advise Yatsek not to sell but to mortgage. Though he may never come back, he can sign himself always as from it, and that is more decent for a man of his name and his origin."
"Must he sell or mortgage in every case?"
"He must. The man is poor, quite poor. You know how much it costs to go to a war, and he cannot serve in a common dragoon regiment."
Pan Serafin thought a while, and said, -
"My benefactor, perhaps I would take a mortgage on Vyrambki."
Father Voynovski blushed as does a maiden when a young man confesses on a sudden that for which she is yearning beyond all things; but the blush flew over his face as swiftly as summer lightning through the sky of evening; then he looked at Pan Serafin, and asked, -
"Why do you take it?"
Pan Serafin answered with all the sincerity of an honest spirit:
"I want it since I wish, without loss to myself, to render an honorable young man a service, for which I shall gain his gratitude. And, Father benefactor, I have still another idea. I will send my one son to that regiment in which Pan Yatsek is to serve, and I think that my Stashko will find in him a good friend and comrade. You know how important a comrade is and what a true friend at one's side means in camp where a quarrel comes easily, and in war where death comes still more easily. God has not, in my case been sparing of fortune, and He has given me only one son. Pan Yatsek is brave, sober, a master at the sabre, as has been shown-and he is virtuous, for you have reared him. Let him and my son be like Orestes and Pylades-that is my reckoning."
Father Voynovski opened his arms to him widely.
"God himself sent you! For Yatsek I answer as I do for myself. He is a golden fellow, and his heart is as grateful as wheat land. God sent you! My dear boy can now show himself as befits the Tachevski escutcheon, and most important of all, he can, after seeing the wide world, forget altogether that girl for whom he has thrown away so many years, and suffered such anguish."
"Has he loved her then from of old?"
"Well, to tell the truth, he has loved her since childhood. Even now he says nothing, he sets his teeth, but he squirms like an eel beneath a knife edge. Let him go at the earliest, for nothing could or can come from this love of his."
A moment of silence followed, then the old man continued, -
"But we must speak of these matters more accurately. How much can you lend on Vyrambki? It is a poor piece of land."
"Even one hundred ducats."
"Fear God, your grace!"
"But why? If Pan Yatsek ever pays me it will be all the same how much I lend him. If he does not pay I shall get my own also, for though the land about here is poor, that new soil must be good beyond the forest. To-day I will take my son and the Bukoyemskis to Yedlinka, and you will do us the favor to come as soon as Pan Yatsek returns to you from Radom. The money will be ready."
"Your grace came from heaven with your golden heart and your money," said Father Voynovski.
Then he commanded to bring mead which he poured out himself, and they drank with much pleasure as men do who have joy at their heart strings. With the third glass the priest became serious.
"For the assistance, for the good word, for the honesty, let me pay," said he, "even with good advice."
"I am listening."
"Do not settle your son in Vyrambki. The young lady is beautiful beyond every description. She may also be honorable, I say naught against that; but she is a Sieninski, not she alone, but Pan Gideon is so proud of this that if any man, no matter who, were to ask for her, even Yakobus our king's son, he would not seem too high to Pan Gideon. Guard your son, do not let him break his young heart on that pride, or wound himself mortally like Yatsek. Out of pure and well-wishing friendship do I say this, desiring to pay for your kindness with kindness."
Pan Serafin drew his palm across his forehead as he answered, -
"They dropped down on us at Yedlinka as from the clouds because of what happened on the journey. I went once to Pan Gideon's on a neighborly visit, but he did not return it. Noting his pride and its origin I have not sought his acquaintance or friendship. What has come came of itself. I will not settle my son in Vyrambki, nor let him be foolish at Pan Gideon's mansion. We are not such an ancient nobility as the Sieninskis, nor perhaps as Pan Gideon, but our nobility grew out of war, out of that which gives pain, as Charnyetski described it. We shall be able to preserve our own dignity-my son is not less keen on that point than I am. It is hard for a young man to guard against Cupid, but I will tell you, my benefactor, what Stashko told me when recently at Pan Gideon's. I inquired touching Panna Anulka. 'I would rather,' said he, 'not pluck an apple than spring too high after it, for if I should not reach the fruit, shame would come of my effort.'"
"Ah! he has a good thought in his head!" exclaimed Father Voynovski.
"He has been thus from his boyhood," added Pan Serafin with a certain proud feeling. "He told me also, that when he had learnt what the girl had been to Tachevski, and what he had passed through because of her, he would not cross the road of so worthy a cavalier. No, my benefactor, I do not take a mortgage on Vyrambki to have my son near Pan Gideon's. May God guard my Stanislav, and preserve him from evil."
"Amen! I believe you as if an angel were speaking. And now let some third man take the girl, even one of the Bukoyemskis, who boast of such kinsfolk."
Pan Serafin smiled, drank out his mead, took farewell, and departed.
Father Voynovski went to the church to thank God for that unexpected assistance, and then he waited for Yatsek impatiently.
When at last Yatsek came, the old man ran out to the yard and seized him by the shoulders.
"Yatsek," exclaimed he, "thou canst give ten ducats for a crupper. Thou hast one hundred ducats, as it were, on the table, and Vyrambki remains to thee."
Yatsek fixed on Father Voynovski eyes that were sunken from sleeplessness and suffering, and asked, with astonishment, -
"What has happened?"
"A really good thing, since it came from the heart of an honest man."
Father Voynovski noted with the greatest consolation that Yatsek in spite of his terrible suffering, and all his heart tortures, received, as it were, a new spirit on learning of the agreement with Pan Serafin. For some days he spoke and thought only of horses, wagons, outfit, and servants, so that it seemed as though there was no place for aught else in him.
"Here is thy medicine, thy balsam; here are thy remedies," repeated the priest to himself; "for if a man entrapped by a woman and never so unhappy were going to the army he would have to be careful not to buy a horse that had heaves or was spavined; he would have to choose sabres, and fit on his armor, try his lance once and a second time, and, turning from the woman to more fitting objects, find relief for his heart in them."
And he remembered how, when young, he himself had sought in war either death or forgetfulness. But since war had not begun yet, death was still distant from Yatsek in every case; meantime he was filled with his journey, and with questions bound up in it.
There was plenty to do. Pan Serafin and his son came again to the priest with whom Yatsek was living. Then all went to the city together to draw up the mortgage. There, also, they found a part of Yatsek's outfit; the remainder, the experienced and clear-headed priest advised to search out in Warsaw or Cracow. This beginning of work took up some days, during which young Stanislav, whose slight wound was almost healed, gave earnest assistance to Yatsek, with whom he contracted a more and more intimate acquaintance and friendship. The old men were pleased at this, for both held it extremely important. The honest Pan Serafin even began to be sorry that Yatsek was going so promptly, and to persuade the priest not to hasten his departure.
