When he had said this he turned toward the house; but on the way he went once more to the stable, before which his two servants were playing dice. "Syruts, is Basior's mane plaited?" "Plaited, Colonel!" Volodyovski went into the stable. Basior neighed at him from the manger; the knight approached the horse, patted him on the side, and then began to count the braids on his neck. "Go--not go--go." Again the soothsaying came out favorably. "Saddle the horse and dress decently," commanded Volodyovski. Then he went to the house quickly, and began to dress. He put on high cavalry boots, yellow, with gilded spurs, and a new red uniform, besides a rapier with steel scabbard, the hilt ornamented with gold; in addition a half breastplate of bright steel covering only the upper part of the breast near the neck. He had also a lynxskin cap with a beautiful heron feather; but since that was worn only with a Polish dress, he left it in the trunk, put on a Swedish helmet with a vizor, and went out before the porch. "Where is your grace going?" asked old Pakosh, who was sitting on the railing. "Where am I going? It is proper for me to go and inquire after the health of your lady; if not, she might think me rude." "From your grace there is a blaze like fire. Every bulfinch is a fool in comparison! Unless the lady is without eyes, she will fall in love in a minute." Just then the two youngest daughters of Pakosh hurried up on their way home from the forenoon milking, each with a pail of milk. When they saw Volodyovski they stood as if fixed to the earth from wonder. "Is it a king or not?" asked Zonia. "Your grace is like one going to a wedding," added Marysia. "Maybe there will be a wedding," laughed old Pakosh, "for he is going to see our lady." Before the old man had stopped speaking the full pail dropped from the hand of Marysia, and a stream of milk flowed along till it reached the feet of Volodyovski. "Pay attention to what you are holding!" said Pakosh, angrily. "Giddy thing!" Marysia said nothing; she raised the pail and walked off in silence. Volodyovski mounted his horse; his two servants followed him, riding abreast, and the three moved on toward Vodokty. The day was beautiful. The May sun played on the breastplate and helmet of the colonel, so that when at a distance he was gleaming among the willows it seemed that another sun was pushing along the road. "I am curious to know whether I shall come back with a ring or a melon?" said the knight to himself. "What is your grace saying?" asked Syruts. "Thou art a blockhead!" Syruts reined in his horse, and Volodyovski continued: "The whole luck of the matter is that it is not the first time!" This idea gave him uncommon comfort.