“But where is Babinich? Is he not sleeping?” “I, sleep in such a night as this!” answered Pan Andrei, climbing up on the wall. “I should have no conscience. Better watch as an orderly of the Most Holy Lady.” “Better, better, faithful servant!” answered Kordetski. Pan Andrei saw at that moment a faint Swedish light gleaming, and immediately he cried,— “Fire, there, fire! Aim! higher! at the dog-brothers!” Kordetski smiled, seeing such zeal, and returned to the cloister to send to the wearied men a drink made of beer with pieces of cheese broken in it. Half an hour later appeared women, priests, and old men of the church, bringing steaming pots and jugs. The soldiers seized these with alacrity, and soon was heard along all the walls eager drinking. They praised the drink, saying,— “We are not forgotten in the service of the Most Holy Lady. We have good food.” “It is worse for the Swedes,” added others. “It was hard for them to cook food the past night; it will be worse the night coming.” “They have enough, the dog-faiths. They will surely give themselves and us rest during the day. Their poor guns must be hoarse by this time from roaring continually.” But the soldiers were mistaken, for the day was not to bring rest. When, in the morning, officers coming with the reports informed Miller that the result of the night’s cannonading was nothing, that in fact the night had brought the Swedes a considerable loss in men, the general was stubborn and gave command to continue cannonading. “They will grow tired at last,” said he to the Prince of Hesse. “This is an immense outlay of powder,” answered that officer. “But they burn powder too?” “They must have endless supplies of saltpetre and sulphur, and we shall give them charcoal ourselves, if we are able to burn even one booth. In the night I went near the walls, and in spite of the thunder, I heard a mill clearly, that must be a powder-mill.” “I will give orders to cannonade as fiercely as yesterday, till sunset. We will rest for the night. We shall see if an embassy does not come out.” “Your worthiness knows that they have sent one to Wittemberg?” “I know; I will send too for the largest cannons. If it is impossible to frighten the monks or to raise a fire inside the fortress, we must make a breach.” “I hope, your worthiness, that the field-marshal will approve the siege.” “The field-marshal knows of my intention, and he has said nothing,” replied Miller, dryly. “If failure pursues me still farther, the field-marshal will give censure instead of approval, and will not fail to lay all the blame at my door. The king will say he is right,—I know that. I have suffered not a little from the field-marshal’s sullen humor, just as if ’tis my fault that he, as the Italians state, is consumed by _mal francese_.” “That they will throw the blame on you I doubt not, especially when it appears that Sadovich is right.”