“He is a man of uncommon ambition and envious of glory. I have known him many years; I was his confidant and made his acquaintance when he was still a lad, at the court of Pan Krakovski. He was learning fencing at that time from Frenchmen and Italians. He fell into terrible anger one day when I told him that they were fools, not one of whom could stand before me. We had a duel, and I laid out seven of them one following the other. After that Lyubomirski learned from me, not only fencing, but the military art. By nature his wit is a little dull; but whatever he knows he knows from me.” “Are you then such a master of the sword?” asked Polyanovski. “As a specimen of my teaching, take Pan Volodyovski; he is my second pupil. From that man I have real comfort.” “True, it was you who killed Sweno.” “Sweno? If some one of you, gentlemen, had done that deed, he would have had something to talk about all his life, and besides would invite his neighbors often to dinner to repeat the story at wine; but I do not mind it, for if I wished to take in all I have done, I could pave the road from this place to Sandomir with such Swenos. Could I not? Tell me, any of you who know me.” “Uncle could do it,” said Roh Kovalski. Charnyetski did not hear the continuation of this dialogue, for he had fallen to thinking deeply over Zagloba’s words. He too knew of Lyubomirski’s ambition, and doubted not that the marshal would either impose his own will on him, or would act on his own account, even though that should bring harm to the Commonwealth. Therefore his stern face became gloomy, and he began to twist his beard. “Oho!” whispered Zagloba to Pan Yan, “Charnyetski is chewing something bitter, for his face is like the face of an eagle; he will snap up somebody soon.” Then Charnyetski said: “Some one of you, gentlemen, should go with a letter from me to Lyubomirski.” “I am known to him, and I will go,” said Pan Yan. “That is well,” answered Charnyetski; “the more noted the messenger, the better.” Zagloba turned to Volodyovski and whispered: “He is speaking now through the nose; that is a sign of great change.” In fact, Charnyetski had a silver palate, for a musket-ball had carried away his own years before at Busha. Therefore whenever he was roused, angry, and unquiet, he always began to speak with a sharp and clinking voice. Suddenly he turned to Zagloba: “And perhaps you would go with Pan Skshetuski?” “Willingly,” answered Zagloba. “If I cannot do anything, no man can. Besides, to a man of such great birth it will be more proper to send two.” Charnyetski compressed his lips, twisted his beard, and repeated as if to himself: “Great birth, great birth—” “No one can deprive Lyubomirski of that,” remarked Zagloba. Charnyetski frowned. “The Commonwealth alone is great, and in comparison with it no family is great, all of them are small; and I would the earth swallowed those who make mention of their greatness.”