But Kmita approached the little knight with great disquiet on his face. “Did you find many people with Radzivill?” asked he. “Of officers, Kharlamp alone was there.” “I do not ask about the military, but about women.” “I know what you mean,” answered Pan Michael, flushing somewhat. “Prince Boguslav took Panna Billevich to Taurogi.” Kmita’s face changed at once; first it was pale as a parchment, then purple, and again whiter than before. He did not find words at once; but his nostrils quivered while he was catching breath, which apparently failed in his breast. Then he seized his temples with both hands, and running through the room like a madman, began to repeat,— “Woe to me, woe, woe!” “Come! Kharlamp will tell you better, for he was present,” said Volodyovski. CHAPTER XVIII. When they had left the king’s chamber the two knights walked on in silence. Volodyovski did not wish to speak; Kmita was unable to utter a word, for pain and rage were gnawing him. They broke through the crowds of people who had collected in great numbers on the streets in consequence of tidings that the first detachment of the Tartars promised by the Khan had arrived, and was to enter the city to be presented to the king. The little knight led on; Kmita hastened after him like one beside himself, with his cap pulled over his eyes and stumbling against men on the way. When they had come to a more spacious place Pan Michael seized Kmita by the wrist and said,— “Control yourself! Despair will do nothing.” “I am not in despair,” answered Kmita, “but I want his blood.” “You may be sure to find him among the enemies of the country.” “So much the better,” answered Kmita, feverishly; “but even should I find him in a church—” “In God’s name, do not commit sacrilege!” interrupted the little colonel, quickly. “That traitor will bring me to sin.” They were silent for a time. Then Kmita asked, “Where is he now?” “Maybe in Taurogi, and maybe not. Kharlamp will know better.” “Let us go.” “It is not far. The squadron is outside the town, but we are here; and Kharlamp is with us.” Then Kmita began to breathe heavily like a man going up a steep mountain. “I am fearfully weak yet,” said he. “You need moderation all the more, since you will have to deal with such a knight.” “I had him once, and here is what remained.” Kmita pointed to the scar on his face. “Tell me how it was, for the king barely mentioned it.” Kmita began to tell; and though he gritted his teeth, and even threw his cap on the ground, still his mind escaped from misfortune, and he calmed himself somewhat. “I knew that you were daring,” said Volodyovski; “but to carry off Radzivill from the middle of his own squadron, I did not expect that, even of you.”