“Only the question is: How? But for that matter to capture this fortress is at present as great a calamity as to retire from it.” Meanwhile they had reached the little barn. Miller dismounted, after him the officers, and all entered. The soldiers had removed Kuklinovski from the beam, and covering him with a rug laid him on his back on remnants of straw. The bodies of three soldiers lay at one side, placed evenly one by the other. “These were killed with knives.” “But Kuklinovski?” “There are no wounds on Kuklinovski, but his side is roasted and his mustaches daubed with pitch. He must have perished of cold or suffocation, for he holds his own cap in his teeth to this moment.” “Uncover him.” The soldier raised a corner of the rug, and a terrible face was uncovered, swollen, with eyes bursting out. On the remnants of his pitched mustaches were icicles formed from his frozen breath and mixed with soot, making as it were tusks sticking out of his mouth. That face was so revolting that Miller, though accustomed to all kinds of ghastliness, shuddered and said,— “Cover it quickly. Terrible, terrible!” Silence reigned in the barn. “Why have we come here?” asked the Prince of Hesse, spitting. “I shall not touch food for a whole day.” All at once some kind of uncommon exasperation closely bordering on frenzy took possession of Miller. His face became blue, his eyes expanded, he began to gnash his teeth, a wild thirst for the blood of some one had seized him; then turning to Zbrojek, he screamed,— “Where is that soldier who saw that Kuklinovski was in the barn? He must be a confederate!” “I know not whether that soldier is here yet,” answered Zbrojek. “All Kuklinovski’s men have scattered like oxen let out from the yoke.” “Then catch him!” bellowed Miller, in fury. “Catch him yourself!” cried Zbrojek, in similar fury. And again a terrible outburst hung as it were on a spider-web over the heads of the Swedes and the Poles. The latter began to gather around Zbrojek, moving their mustaches threateningly and rattling their sabres. During this noise the echoes of shots and the tramp of horses were heard, and into the barn rushed a Swedish officer of cavalry. “General!” cried he. “A sortie from the cloister! The men working at the mine have been cut to pieces! A party of infantry is scattered!” “I shall go wild!” roared Miller, seizing the hair of his wig. “To horse!”