But Kmita did not hear these; he lay as if dead in the ditch. He did not hear also how, after a time of deep silence, the groans of men were heard, cries and shouts for help; how nearly half the army, Swedish and allied, assembled. The confusion and uproar lasted long, till from the chaos of testimony the Swedish general reached the fact that the siege-gun had been blown up of purpose by some one. Search was ordered immediately. In the morning the searching soldiers found Kmita lying in the ditch. It appeared that he was merely stunned from the explosion. He had lost, to begin with, control of his hands and feet. His powerlessness lasted the whole ensuing day. They nursed him with the utmost care. In the evening he had recovered his power almost completely. He was brought then by command before Miller, who occupied the middle place at the table in his quarters; around him sat the Prince of Hesse, Count Veyhard, Sadovski, all the noted officers of the Swedes, of the Poles, Zbrojek, Kalinski, and Kuklinovski. The last at sight of Kmita became blue, his eyes burned like two coals, and his mustaches began to quiver. Without awaiting the question of the general, he said,— “I know this bird. He is from the Chenstohova garrison. His name is Babinich.” Kmita was silent; pallor and weariness were evident on his face, but his glance was bold and his countenance calm. “Did you blow up the siege-gun?” asked Miller. “I did.” “How did you do it?” Kmita stated all briefly, concealed nothing. The officers looked at one another in amazement. “A hero!” whispered the Prince of Hesse to Sadovski. But Sadovski inclined to Count Veyhard. “Count Veyhard,” asked he, “how are we to take a fortress with such defenders? What do you think, will they surrender?” “There are more of us in the fortress ready for such deeds,” said Kmita. “You know not the day nor the hour.” “I too have more than one halter in the camp,” said Miller. “We know that. But you will not take Yasna Gora while there is one man alive there.” A moment of silence followed. Then Miller inquired,— “Is your name Babinich?” Pan Andrei thought that after what he had done, and in presence of death, the time had come in which he had no need to conceal his name. Let people forget the faults and transgressions bound up with it; let glory and devotion shine over them. “My name is not Babinich,” said he, with a certain pride, “my name is Andrei Kmita; I was colonel of my own personal squadron in the Lithuanian contingent.” Hardly had Kuklinovski heard this when he sprang up as if possessed, stuck out his eyes, opened his mouth, and began to strike his sides with his hands. At last he cried,— “General, I beg for a word without delay, without delay.” A murmur rose at the same time among the Polish officers, which the Swedes heard with wonder, since for them the name Kmita meant nothing. They noted at once that this must be no common soldier, for Zbrojek rose, and approaching the prisoner said,—