Fortune seemed to smile on the conqueror once more. He was informed some days later that for reasons of health he would be released from prison until the winter. He was ordered to appear before the Magistrate. The man who, bayonet in hand, had seized flags and guns, now began to fear a uniform more than death. A deep, unconscious feeling was growing in his mind that he was being persecuted, that they could do as they liked with him, and that there was some mighty, yet malevolent and evil power above him, which, if he resisted, would crush him. So there he stood before the Magistrate, as formerly before Steinmetz, upright, his body drawn in, his chest thrown forward, not daring to breathe. There were some officers present also: they represented war and the military prison to Bartek. The officers looked at him through their gold eye-glasses with the pride and disdain befitting Prussian officers towards a private soldier and Polish peasant. He stood holding his breath, and the Magistrate said something in a commanding tone. He did not ask or persuade, he commanded and threatened. A Member had died in Berlin, and the writs for a fresh election had been issued. 'You Polish dog, just you dare to vote for Count Jarzyński, just you dare!' At this the officers knitted their brows into threatening leonine wrinkles. One, lighting his cigar, repeated after the Magistrate 'Just you dare!' and Bartek the Conqueror's heart died within him. When he heard the order given, 'Go!' he made a half turn to the left, went out and took breath. They told him to vote for Herr Schulberg of Great Krzywda; he paid no attention to the command, but took a deep breath. For he was going to Pognębin, he could be at home during harvest time, the Count had promised to pay Just. He walked out of the town; the ripening cornfields surrounded him on every side, the heavy blades hurtling one another in the wind, and murmuring with a sound dear to the peasant's ear. Bartek was still weak, but the sun warmed him. 'Ah! how beautiful the world is!' this worn-out soldier thought. It was not much further to Pognębin. CHAPTER X 'The Election! The Election!' Countess Marya Jarzyński's head was full of it, and she thought, talked and dreamt of nothing else. 'You are a great politician,' an aristocratic neighbour said to her, kissing her small hands in a snake-like way. But the 'great politician' blushed like a cherry, and answered with a beautiful smile:-- 'Oh, we only do what we can!' 'Count Józef will be elected,' the nobleman said with conviction, and the 'great politician' answered:-- 'I should wish it very much, though not alone for Józef's sake, but' (here the 'great politician' dropped her imprudent hands again), 'for the common cause...'