Pan Kharlamp hurried again to the line, and commanded in a quick, clear voice: "To the left! face--to the rear!" Hoofs sounded on the pavement. The line broke into two; the halves broke again till there were four parts, which began to recede with slow step in the direction of the barracks. "Good soldiers," said Skshetuski, looking with skilled eye at the regular movements of the dragoons. "Those are petty nobles and attendant boyars who serve in that arm," answered Volodyovski. "Oh, you could tell in a moment that they are not militia," cried Pan Stanislav. "But does Kharlamp command them," asked Zagloba, "or am I mistaken? I remember that he served in the light-horse squadron and wore silver loops." "True," answered Volodyovski; "but it is a couple of years since he took the dragoon regiment. He is an old soldier, and trained." Meanwhile Kharlamp, having dismissed the dragoons, returned to the knights. "I beg you, gentlemen, to follow me. Over there are the barracks, beyond the castle." Half an hour later the five were sitting over a bowl of heated beer, well whitened with cream, and were talking about the impending war. "And what is to be heard here?" asked Pan Michael. "With us something new may be heard every day, for people are lost in surmises and give out new reports all the time," said Kharlamp. "But in truth the prince alone knows what is coming. He has something on his mind, for though he simulates gladness and is kind to people as never before, he is terribly thoughtful. In the night, they say, he does not sleep, but walks with heavy tread through all the chambers, talking audibly to himself, and in the daytime takes counsel for whole hours with Harasimovich." "Who is Harasimovich?" asked Volodyovski. "The manager from Zabludovo in Podlyasye,--a man of small stature, who looks as though he kept the devil under his arm; but he is a confidential agent of the prince, and probably knows all his secrets. According to my thinking, from these counsellings a terrible and vengeful war with Sweden will come, for which war we are all sighing. Meanwhile letters are flying hither from the Prince of Courland, from Hovanski, and from the Elector of Brandenburg. Some say that the prince is negotiating with Moscow to join the league against Sweden; others say the contrary; but it seems there will be a league with no one, but a war, as I have said, with these and those. Fresh troops are coming continually; letters are sent to nobles most faithful to the Radzivills, asking them to assemble. Every place is full of armed men. Ei, gentlemen, on whomsoever they put the grain, on him will it be ground; but we shall have our hands red to the elbows, for when Radzivill moves to the field, he will not negotiate."