rage than he felt, or than the case called for, to burn all the bridges between his own mansion and Vyrambki, and, when he had humiliated Yatsek without mercy, to close the doors of the house to him forever. And he was reaching his object. Yatsek walked back from the porch, took a seat at the table, thrust his fingers through his hair, supported his elbows, and was as silent as if pain had taken speech from him. Father Voynovski approached and put his hand on his shoulder. "Yatsus, suffer what thou must," said he, "but a foot of thine should never enter that mansion hereafter." "It never will," replied Yatsek, in a dull voice. "But yield not to pain. Remember who thou art." The young man set his teeth. "I remember, but for that very reason pain burns me!" "No one here applauds Pan Gideon for his action," said Stanislav. "It is one thing to censure, and another to trample a man's honor." Hereupon the Bukoyemskis were moving, and Mateush, whom speech troubled least, added promptly,-- "Under his roof I will say nothing, but when I recover and meet him on the road, or at a neighbor's, I will tell him to kiss a dog's snout that same minute." "O, yei!" said Marek. "To insult such a cavalier! The hour will come when that will not be forgiven him." Meanwhile three sleighs with sofas and three servants, besides drivers, appeared to convey the wounded men to Belchantska. Because of regard for the expected arrival of Pan Serafin, Yatsek dared not detain them, and because also of this: that they were really the guests of Pan Gideon. As to the men, they would not have remained after hearing of Yatsek's great poverty lest they might burden him. They took farewell and gave thanks for his hospitality with a heartiness as great as if there had never been a quarrel between them. But when Stanislav was taking his seat in the last sleigh Yatsek sprang forward on a sudden,-- "I will go with you," said he. "I cannot endure to do otherwise! I cannot endure! Before Pan Gideon returns I must--for the last time--" Father Voynovski, since he knew Yatsek, knew that words would be useless; still, he drew him aside and began to expostulate,-- "Yatsek! O Yatsek! a woman again. God grant that a still greater wrong may not meet thee. O Yatsek, remember the words of Ecclesiastes: 'In a thousand I found one man, among all I found not one woman.' Take pity on thyself and remember this." But these words were as peas against a battlement. In a moment Yatsek was sitting in the sleigh at the side of Stanislav, and they started. Meanwhile the east wind had broken the mist and driven it to the wilderness; then the bright sun from a blue sky looked at them. CHAPTER IV