“Too bad to lose time. I cannot see what the prince wants. Do you surrender, or do you wish to try your fortune?” Sakovich feigned astonishment. “Whether we surrender? I think that the prince proposes specially in this letter that you surrender; at least my instructions—” “Of your instructions we will speak later, my dear Pan Sakovich. We have chased you nearly a hundred and fifty miles, as a hound does a hare. Have you ever heard of a hare proposing to a hound to surrender?” “We have received reinforcements.” “Von Kyritz, with eight hundred men, and so tired that they will lay down their arms before battle. I will give you Hmelnitski’s saying ‘There is no time to talk!’” “The elector with all his power is with us.” “That is well,—I shall not have far to seek him; for I wish to ask him by what right he sends troops into the Commonwealth, of which he is a vassal, and to which he is bound in loyalty.” “The right of the strongest.” “Maybe in Prussia such a right exists, but not with us. But if you are the stronger, take the field.” “The prince would long since have attacked you, were it not for kindred blood.” “I wonder if that is the only hindrance!” “The prince wonders at the animosity of the Sapyehas against the house of Radzivill, and that your worthiness for private revenge hesitates not to spill the blood of the country.” “Tfu!” cried Kmita, listening behind the hetman’s armchair to the conversation. Pan Sakovich rose, went to Kmita, and struck him with his eyes. But he met his own, or better; and in the eyes of Pan Andrei the starosta found such an answer that he dropped his glance to the floor. The hetman frowned. “Take your seat, Pan Sakovich. And do you preserve calm” (turning to Kmita). Then he said to Sakovich,— “Conscience speaks only the truth, but mouths chew it and spit it into the world as calumny. He who with foreign troops attacks a country, inflicts wrong on him who defends it. God hears this, and the heavenly chronicler will inscribe.” “Through hatred of the Sapyehas to the Radzivills was the prince voevoda of Vilna consumed.” “I hate traitors, not the Radzivills; and the best proof of this is that Prince Michael Radzivill is in my camp now. Tell me what is your wish?” “Your worthiness, I will tell what I have in my heart; he hates who sends secret assassins.” Pan Sapyeha was astonished in his turn. “I send assassins against Prince Boguslav?” “That is the case!” “You have gone mad!” “The other day they caught, beyond Yanov, a murderer who once made an attack on the life of the prince. Tortures brought him to tell who sent him.” A moment of silence followed; but in that silence Pan Sapyeha heard how Kmita, standing behind him, repeated twice through his set lips, “Woe, woe!”