Then the sweet voice of Olenka sounded in his ear: "Oh, no need to think of that! God will give you a wife beloved of your heart, and honest as you are." The good Pan Michael melted at once: "If any one were to play on a flute to me, it would not be sweeter to my ear." The increasing bustle stopped further conversation, for it had come now to the glasses. Excitement increased. Colonels disputed about the coming war, frowning and casting fiery glances. Pan Zagloba was describing to the whole table the siege of Zbaraj; and the ardor and daring of the hearers rose till the blood went to their faces and hearts. It might seem that the spirit of the immortal "Yarema"[20] was flying above that hall, and had filled the souls of the soldiers with heroic inspiration. "That was a leader!" said the famous Mirski, who led all Radzivill's hussars. "I saw him only once, but to the moment of my death I shall remember it." "Jove with thunderbolts in his grasp!" cried old Stankyevich. "It would not have come to this were he alive now!" "Yes; think of it! Beyond Romni he had forests cut down to open a way for himself to the enemy." "The victory at Berestechko was due to him." "And in the most serious moment God took him." "God took him," repeated Pan Yan, in a loud voice; "but he left a testament behind him for all coming leaders and dignitaries and for the whole Commonwealth. This is it: to negotiate with no enemy, but to fight them all." "Not to negotiate; to fight!" repeated a number of powerful voices, "fight! fight!" The heat became great in the hall, and the blood was boiling in the warriors; therefore glances began to fall like lightning-flashes, and the heads shaven on the temples and lower forehead began to steam. "Our prince, our hetman, will be the executioner of that will!" said Mirski. Just at that moment an enormous clock in the upper part of the hall began to strike midnight, and at the same time, the walls trembled, the window-panes rattled plaintively, and the thunder of cannon was heard saluting in the courtyard. Conversation was stopped, silence followed. Suddenly at the head of the table they began to cry: "Bishop Parchevski has fainted! Water!" There was confusion. Some sprang from their seats to see more clearly what had happened. The bishop had not fainted, but had grown very weak, so that the marshal supported him in his chair by the shoulders, while the wife of the voevoda of Venden sprinkled his face with water. At that moment the second discharge of cannon shook the window-panes; after it came a third, and a fourth. "Live the Commonwealth! May its enemies perish!" shouted Zagloba. But the following discharges drowned his speech. The nobles began to count: "Ten, eleven, twelve!" Each time the window-panes answered with a mournful groan. The candles quivered from the shaking.