“O Wittemberg, poor man, Race across over the sea, Like a hare! But when thy buttons are lost Thou wilt drop down thy trousers, While racing away!” And Wittemberg, as if making the words of the song true, gave up his command in Cracow to the valiant Wirtz, and betook himself hurriedly to Elblang, where the King of Sweden was sojourning with the queen, spending his time at feasts, and rejoicing in his heart that he had become the lord of such an illustrious kingdom. Accounts came also to Lvoff of the fall of Tykotsin, and minds were gladdened. It was strange that men had begun to speak of that event before a courier had come; only they did not say whether Radzivill had died or was in captivity. It was asserted, however, that Sapyeha, at the head of a considerable force, had gone from Podlyasye to Lyubelsk to join the hetmans; that on the road he was beating the Swedes and growing in power every day. At last envoys came from Sapyeha himself in a considerable number, for the voevoda had sent neither less nor more than one whole squadron to be at the disposal of the king, desiring in this way to show honor to the sovereign, to secure his person from every possible accident, and perhaps specially to increase his significance. The squadron was brought by Volodyovski, well known to the king; so Yan Kazimir gave command that he should stand at once in his presence, and taking Pan Michael’s head between his hands, he said,— “I greet thee, famous soldier! Much water has flowed down since we lost sight of thee. I think that we saw thee last at Berestechko, all covered with blood.” Pan Michael bent to the knees of the king, and said,— “It was later, in Warsaw, Gracious Lord; also in the castle with the present castellan of Kieff, Pan Charnyetski.” “But are you serving all the time? Had you no desire to enjoy leisure at home?” “No; for the Commonwealth was in need, and besides, in these public commotions my property has been lost. I have no place in which to put my head, Gracious Lord; but I am not sorry for myself, thinking that the first duty of a soldier is to the king and the country.” “Ah, would there were more such! The enemy would not be so rich. God grant the time for rewards will come; but now tell me what you have done with the voevoda of Vilna?” “The voevoda of Vilna is before the judgment of God. The soul went out of him just as we were going to the final storm.” “How was that?” “Here is Pan Sapyeha’s report,” said Volodyovski. The king took Sapyeha’s letter and began to read; he had barely begun when he stopped. “Pan Sapyeha is mistaken,” said he, “when he writes that the grand baton of Lithuania is unoccupied; it is not, for I give it to him.” “There is no one more worthy,” said Pan Michael, “and to your Royal Grace the whole army will be grateful till death for this deed.” The king smiled at the simple soldierly confidence, and read on. After a while he sighed, and said,—