“Where is the prior?” “On the wall. He is praying; he did this.” “Babinich burst the gun!” cried Charnyetski. “Babinich, Babinich! Praise to the Most Holy Lady! They will harm us no longer.” At the same time sounds of confusion rose from the Swedish camp. In all the trenches fires began to shine. An increasing uproar was heard. By the light of the fires masses of soldiers were seen moving in various directions without order, trumpets sounded, drums rolled continually; to the walls came shouts in which alarm and amazement were heard. Kordetski continued kneeling on the wall. At last the night began to grow pale, but Babinich came not to the fortress. CHAPTER IV. What had happened to Pan Andrei, and in what way had he been able to carry out his plan? After leaving the fortress he advanced some time with a sure and wary step. At the very end of the slope he halted and listened. It was silent around,—so silent in fact that his steps were heard clearly on the snow. In proportion as he receded from the walls, he stepped more carefully. He halted again, and again listened. He was somewhat afraid of slipping and falling, and thus dampening his precious roll; he drew out his rapier therefore and leaned on it. That helped him greatly. Thus feeling his way, after the course of half an hour he heard a slight sound directly in front. “Ah! they are watching. The sortie has taught them wariness,” thought he. And he went farther now very slowly. He was glad that he had not gone astray, for the darkness was such that he could not see the end of the rapier. “Those trenches are considerably farther: I am advancing well then!” whispered he to himself. He hoped also not to find men before the intrenchment; for, properly speaking, they had nothing to do there, especially at night. It might be that at something like a hundred or fewer yards apart single sentries were stationed; but he hoped to pass them in such darkness. It was joyous in his soul. Kmita was not only daring but audacious. The thought of bursting the gigantic gun delighted him to the bottom of his soul,—not only as heroism, not only as an immortal service to the besieged, but as a terrible damage to the Swedes. He imagined how Miller would be astounded, how he would gnash his teeth, how he would gaze in helplessness on those walls; and at moments pure laughter seized him. And as he had himself said, he felt no emotion, no fear, no unquiet. It did not even enter his head to what an awful danger he was exposing himself. He went on as a school-boy goes to an orchard to make havoc among apples. He recalled other times when he harried Hovanski, stole up at night to a camp of thirty thousand with two hundred such fighters as himself.