“Have you reasons for vengeance?” “Your worthiness, I wished privately to bring him to our camp. He, taking advantage of the fact that I laid aside my office of envoy, insulted me, Kuklinovski, as no man in life has insulted me.” “What did he do to you?” Kuklinovski trembled and gnashed his teeth. “Better not speak of it. Only give him to me. He is doomed to death anyhow, and I would like before his end to have a little amusement with him,—all the more because he is the Kmita whom formerly I venerated, and who repaid me in such fashion. Give him to me; it will be better for you. If I rub him out, Zbrojek and Kalinski and with them all the Polish knighthood will fall not upon you, but upon me, and I’ll help myself. There will not be anger, wry faces, and mutiny. It will be my private matter about Kmita’s skin, of which I shall have a drum made.” Miller fell to thinking; a sudden suspicion flashed over his face. “Kuklinovski,” said he, “maybe you wish to save him?” Kuklinovski smiled quietly, but that smile was so terrible and sincere that Miller ceased to doubt. “Perhaps you give sound advice,” said he. “For all my services I beg this reward only.” “Take him, then.” Now both returned to the room where the rest of the officers were assembled. Miller turned to them and said,— “In view of the services of Pan Kuklinovski I place at his absolute disposal this prisoner.” A moment of silence followed; then Pan Zbrojek put his hands on his sides, and asked with a certain accent of contempt,— “And what does Pan Kuklinovski think to do with the prisoner?” Kuklinovski bent, straightened himself quickly, his lips opened with an ill-omened smile, and his eyes began to quiver. “Whoso is not pleased with what I do to the prisoner, knows where to find me.” And he shook his sabre. “Your promise, Pan Kuklinovski,” said Zbrojek. “Promise, promise!” When he had said this he approached Kmita. “Follow me, little worm; come after me, famous soldier. Thou’rt a trifle weak; thou needst swathing,—I’ll swathe thee.” “Ruffian!” said Kmita. “Very good, very good, daring soul! Meanwhile step along.” The officers remained in the room; Kuklinovski mounted his horse before the quarters. Having with him three soldiers, he commanded one of them to lead Kmita by a lariat; and all went together toward Lgota, where Kuklinovski’s regiment was quartered. On the way Kmita prayed ardently. He saw that death was approaching, and he committed himself with his whole soul to God. He was so sunk in prayer and in his own doom that he did not hear what Kuklinovski said to him; he did not know even how long the road was. They stopped at last before an empty, half-ruined barn, standing in the open field, at some distance from the quarters of Kuklinovski’s regiment. The colonel ordered them to lead Kmita in, and turning himself to one of the soldiers, said,— “Hurry for me to the camp, bring ropes and a tar bucket!”