Volodyovski in seeking the lady burst through the whole house, and found her at last in the treasure-chamber situated in a corner to which a low and narrow door led from the sleeping-room. It was a small chamber, with narrow, strongly barred windows, built in a square and with such mighty walls, that Volodyovski saw at once that even if Kmita had blown up the house with powder that room would have surely remained unharmed. This gave him a better opinion of Kmita. The lady was sitting on a chest not far from the door, with her head drooping, and her face almost hidden by her hair. She did not raise it when she heard the knight coming. She thought beyond doubt that it was Kmita himself or some one of his people. Pan Volodyovski stood in the door, coughed once, a second time, and seeing no result from that, said,-- "My lady, you are free!" "From under the drooping hair blue eyes looked at the knight, and then a comely face appeared, though pale and as it were not conscious. Volodyovski was hoping for thanks, an outburst of gladness; but the lady sat motionless, distraught, and merely looked at him. Therefore the knight spoke again,-- "Come to yourself, my lady! God has regarded innocence,--you are free, and can return to Vodokty." This time there was more consciousness in the look of Panna Billevich. She rose from the chest, shook back her hair, and asked, "Who are you?" "Michael Volodyovski, colonel of dragoons with the voevoda of Vilna." "Did I hear a battle--shots? Tell me." "Yes. We came to save you." She regained her senses completely. "I thank you," said she hurriedly, with a low voice, through which a mortal disquiet was breaking. "But what happened to him?" "To Kmita? Fear not, my lady! He is lying lifeless in the yard; and without praising myself I did it." Volodyovski uttered this with a certain boastfulness; but if he expected admiration he deceived himself terribly. She said not a word, but tottered and began to seek support behind with her hands. At last she sat heavily on the same chest from which she had risen a moment before. The knight sprang to her quickly: "What is the matter, my lady?" "Nothing, nothing--wait, permit me. Then is Pan Kmita killed?" "What is Pan Kmita to me?" interrupted Volodyovski; "it is a question here of you." That moment her strength came back; for she rose again, and looking him straight in the eyes, screamed with anger, impatience, and despair: "By the living God, answer! Is he killed?" "Pan Kmita is wounded," answered the astonished Volodyovski. "Is he alive?" "He is alive." "It is well! I thank you." And with step still tottering she moved toward the door. Volodyovski stood for a while moving his mustaches violently and shaking his head; then he muttered to himself, "Does she thank me because Kmita is wounded, or because he is alive?"