With this same raging endurance was he plucking the Swedes now. “Charnyetski does not knock out my men, he steals them away,” said Karl Gustav. But Charnyetski was tired of stealing away; he thought that the time had come to strike. But he lacked artillery and infantry altogether, without which nothing decisive could be done, nothing important effected; hence his eagerness for a junction with Lyubomirski, who had a small number of cannon, it is true, but brought with him infantry composed of mountaineers. These, though not over-much trained as yet, had still been under fire more than once, and might, for want of better, be used against the incomparable infantry legions of Karl Gustav. Charnyetski, therefore, was as if in a fever. Not being able to endure in the house, he went outside, and seeing Volodyovski and Polyanovski, he asked,— “Are the envoys not in sight?” “It is clear that they are glad to see them,” answered Volodyovski. “They are glad to see them, but not glad to read my letter, or the marshal would have sent his answer.” “Pan Castellan,” said Polyanovski, whom Charnyetski trusted greatly, “why be careworn? If the marshal comes, well; if not, we will attack as of old. As it is, blood is flowing from the Swedish pot; and we know that when a pot once begins to leak, everything will run out of it.” “There is a leak in the Commonwealth too,” said Charnyetski. “If the Swedes escape this time, they will be reinforced, succor will come to them from Prussia, our chance will be lost.” Then he struck his side with his hand in sign of impatience. Just then was heard the tread of horses and the bass voice of Zagloba singing,— “Kaska to the bakehouse went her way, And Stah said to her, ‘Take me in, let me in, My love. For the snow is falling, and the wind is blowing; Where shall I, poor fellow, put my head Till morning?’” “It is a good sign! They are returning joyously,” cried Polyanovski. That moment the envoys, seeing Charnyetski, sprang from their saddles, gave their horses to an attendant, and went quickly to the entrance. Zagloba threw his cap suddenly into the air, and imitating the voice of the marshal so excellently that whoever was not looking on might be deceived, cried,— “Vivat Pan Charnyetski, our leader!” The castellan frowned, and asked quickly: “Is there a letter for me?” “There is not,” answered Zagloba; “there is something better. The marshal with his army passes voluntarily under command of your worthiness.” Charnyetski pierced him with a look, then turned to Pan Yan, as if wishing to say: “Speak you, for this one has been drinking!” Zagloba was in fact a little drunk; but Skshetuski confirmed his words, hence astonishment was reflected on the face of the castellan. “Come with me,” said he to the two. “I beg you also,” said he to Polyanovski and Pan Michael. All entered his room. They had not sat down yet when Charnyetski asked: “What did he say to my letter?”