"We are taking the greatest knights to them, as if into the dog's mouth. They, the sons of Jew mothers, will abuse these knights." "Without a Jew you cannot talk with such trash. The commandant in Shavli had to send for a Jew right away." "May the plague kill them!" Here the first soldier lowered his voice somewhat and said, "They say the best soldiers do not wish to fight against their own king." "Of course not! Did you not see the Hungarians, or how the hetman used troops against those resisting. It is unknown yet what will happen. Some of our dragoons too took part with the Hungarians; these men very likely are shot by this time." "That is a reward for faithful service!" "To the devil with such work! A Jew's service!" "Halt!" cried, on a sudden, Kovalski riding in front. "May a bullet halt in thy snout!" muttered a voice near the wagon. "Who is there?" asked the soldiers of one another. "Halt!" came a second command. The wagon stopped. The soldiers held in their horses. The day was pleasant, clear. The sun had risen, and by its rays was to be seen, on the highway ahead, clusters of dust rising as if herds or troops were coming. Soon the dust began to shine, as if some one were scattering sparks in the bunches of it; and lights glittered each moment more clearly, like burning candles surrounded with smoke. "Those are spears gleaming!" cried Pan Michael. "Troops are coming." "Surely some Swedish detachment!" "With them only infantry have spears; but there the dust is moving quickly. That is cavalry,--our men!" "Ours, ours!" repeated the dragoons. "Form!" thundered Pan Roh. The dragoons surrounded the wagon in a circle. Pan Volodyovski had flame in his eyes. "Those are my Lauda men with Zagloba! It cannot be otherwise!" Now only forty rods divided those approaching from the wagon, and the distance decreased every instant, for the coming detachment was moving at a trot. Finally, from out the dust pushed a strong body of troops moving in good order, as if to attack. In a moment they were nearer. In the first rank, a little from the right side, moved, under a bunchuk, some powerful man with a baton in his hand. Scarcely had Volodyovski put eye on him when he cried,-- "Pan Zagloba! As I love God, Pan Zagloba!" A smile brightened the face of Pan Yan. "It is he, and no one else, and under a bunchuk! He has already created himself hetman. I should have known him by that whim anywhere. That man will die as he was born." "May the Lord God give him health!" said Oskyerko. Then he put his hands around his mouth and began to call, "Gracious Kovalski! your relative is coming to visit you!"