"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!"