"And Mateush is cut over the brows!" called out Yan; "the wound should be covered with bread and spider-web but I will staunch the blood with snow for the present." "If my eyes were not filled with blood," said Mateush, "I would--" But he could not finish since blood loss had weakened him, and he was interrupted by Lukash who had been borne away suddenly by anger. "But he is cunning, the dog blood! He stings like a gnat, though he looks like a maiden." "It is just that cunning," said Yan, "which I cannot pardon." Further conversation was interrupted by the snorting of horses. The sleigh appeared in the haze dimly, and next it was there at the side of the brothers. Out of the sleigh sprang Tachevski, who commanded the driver to step down and help them. The man looked at the Bukoyemskis, took in the whole case with a glance, and said not a word, but on his face was reflected, as it seemed, disappointment, and, turning toward the horses, he crossed himself. Then the three men fell to raising the wounded. The brothers protested against the assistance of Yatsek, but he stopped them. "If ye gentlemen had wounded me, would ye leave me unassisted? This is the service of a noble which one may not meet with neglect or refusal." They were silent, for he won them by these words--somewhat, and after a while they were lying upon straw in the broad sleigh more comfortably, and soon they were warmer. "Whither shall I go?" asked the driver. "Wait. Thou wilt take still another," answered Stanislav, and turning to Yatsek, he said to him,-- "Well, gracious sir, it is our time!" "Oh, it is better to drop this," said Yatsek, regarding him with a look almost friendly. "That God there knows why this has happened, and you took my part when these gentlemen together attacked me. Why should you and I fight a duel?" "We must and will fight," replied Stanislav, coldly. "You have insulted me, and, even if you had not, my name is in question at present--do you understand? Though I were to lose life, though this were to be my last hour--we must fight." "Let it be so! but against my will," said Tachevski. And they began. Stanislav, had more skill than the brothers, but he was weaker than any of them. It was clear that he had been taught by better masters, and that his practice had not been confined to inns and markets. He pressed forward quickly, he parried with readiness and knowledge. Yatsek, in whose heart there was no hatred, and who would have stopped at the lesson given the Bukoyemskis, began to praise him. "With you," said he, "the work is quite different. Your hand was trained by no common swordsman." "Too bad that you did not train it!" said Stanislav.