The soldier entered the room, and with his first movement wished to fall at the feet of his colonel, for he was a friend and a servant as faithful as he was attached; but soldierly subordination carried the day, therefore he stood erect and said,— “At the orders of your grace!” “Be greeted, dear comrade, be greeted!” said Kmita, with emotion. “I thought they had cut you to pieces in Chenstohova.” And he pressed Soroka’s head, then began to shake him, which he could do without lowering himself too much, for Soroka was descended from village nobility. Then the old sergeant fell to embracing Kmita’s knees. “Whence do you come?” asked Kmita. “From Chenstohova.” “And you were looking for me?” “Yes.” “And from whom did you learn that I was alive?” “From Kuklinovski’s men. The prior, Kordetski, celebrated High Mass from delight, in thanksgiving to God. Then there was a report that Pan Babinich had conducted the king through the mountains; so I knew that that was your grace, no one else.” “And Father Kordetski is well?” “Well; only it is unknown whether the angels will not take him alive to heaven any day, for he is a saint.” “Surely he is nothing else. Where did you discover that I came with the king to Lvoff?” “I thought, since you conducted the king you must be near him; but I was afraid that your grace might move to the field and that I should be late.” “To-morrow I go with the Tartars.” “Then it has happened well, for I bring your grace two full belts, one which I wore and the other you carried, and besides, those precious stones which we took from the caps of boyars, and those which your grace took when we seized the treasury of Hovanski.” “Those were good times when we gathered in wealth; but there cannot be much of it now, for I left a good bit with Father Kordetski.” “I do not know how much, but the prior himself said that two good villages might be bought with it.” Then Soroka drew near the table, and began to remove the belts from his body. “And the stones are in this canteen,” added he, putting the canteen near the belts. Kmita made no reply, but shook in his hand some gold ducats without counting them, and said to the sergeant,— “Take these!” “I fall at the feet of your grace. Ei, if I had had on the road one such ducat!” “How is that?” “Because I am terribly weak. There are few places now where they will give one morsel of bread to a man, for all are afraid; and at last I barely dragged my feet forward from hunger.” “By the dear God! but you had all this with you!” “I dared not use it without leave.” “Take this!” said Kmita, giving him another handful. Then he cried to the servants,— “Now, scoundrels, give him to eat in less time than a man might say ‘Our Father,’ or I’ll take your heads!”