A joyous murmur rose in the hall; but Zamoyski slapped his knees with his hands, and the sounds were hushed. Forgell was confused, and was silent for a time; then he began to argue anew, insisted a little, threatened, begged, flattered. Latin flowed from his mouth like a stream, till drops of sweat were on his forehead; but all was in vain, for after his best arguments, so strong that they might move walls, he heard always one answer,— “But still I will not yield Zamost; that is my position!” The audience continued beyond measure; at last it became awkward and difficult for Forgell, since mirth was seizing those present. More and more frequently some word fell, some sneer,—now from Zagloba, now from others,—after which smothered laughter was heard in the hall. Forgell saw finally that it was necessary to use the last means; therefore he unrolled a parchment with seals, which he held in his hand, and to which no one had turned attention hitherto, and rising said with a solemn, emphatic voice,— “For opening the gates of the fortress his Royal Grace,” here again he enumerated the titles, “gives your princely grace the province of Lubelsk in perpetual possession.” All were astonished when they heard this, and Zamoyski himself was astonished for a moment. Forgell had begun to turn a triumphant look on the people around him, when suddenly and in deep silence Zagloba, standing behind Zamoyski, said in Polish,— “Your worthiness, offer the King of Sweden the Netherlands in exchange.” Zamoyski, without thinking long, put his hands on his hips and fired through the whole hall in Latin,— “And I offer to his Swedish Serenity the Netherlands!” That moment the hall resounded with one immense burst of laughter. The breasts of all were shaking, and the girdles on their bodies were shaking; some clapped their hands, others tottered as drunken men, some leaned on their neighbors, but the laughter sounded continuously. Forgell was pale; he frowned terribly, but he waited with fire in his eyes and his head raised haughtily. At last, when the paroxysm of laughter had passed, he asked in a short, broken voice,— “Is that the final answer of your worthiness?” Zamoyski twirled his mustache. “No!” said he, raising his head still more proudly, “for I have cannon on the walls.” The embassy was at an end.