“The soldier thought to himself: ‘That is hard; but if she can do nothing to me now, I’ll pay her what I owe.’ Winding Death up in the mantle, he began to beat her bones on the pebbles; but she cried and begged: ‘I’ll come in two weeks!’ ‘Impossible.’ ‘In three, four, ten, when the siege is over; a year, two, fifteen—’ ‘Impossible.’ ‘I’ll come in fifty years.’ The soldier was pleased, for he was then fifty, and thought: ‘A hundred years is enough; I’ll let her go.’ The man is living this minute, and well; he goes to a battle as to a dance, for what does he care?” “But if he had been frightened, it would have been all over with him?” “The worst is to fear Death,” said Soroka, with importance. “This soldier did good to others too; for after he had beaten Death, he hurt her so that she was fainting for three days, and during that time no one fell in camp, though sorties were made.” “But we never go out at night against the Swedes.” “We haven’t the head for it,” answered Soroka. The last question and answer were heard by Kmita, who was standing not far away, and he struck his head. Then he looked at the Swedish trenches. It was already night. At the trenches for an hour past deep silence had reigned. The wearied soldiers were seemingly sleeping at the guns. At two cannon-shots’ distance gleamed a number of fires; but at the trenches themselves was thick darkness. “That will not enter their heads, nor the suspicion of it, and they cannot suppose it,” whispered Kmita to himself. He went straight to Charnyetski, who, sitting at the gun-carriage, was reading his rosary, and striking one foot against the other, for both feet were cold. “Cold,” said he, seeing Kmita; “and my head is heavy from the thunder of two days and one night. In my ears there is continual ringing.” “In whose head would it not ring from such uproars? But to-day we shall rest. They have gone to sleep for good. It would be possible to surprise them like a bear in a den; I know not whether guns would rouse them.” “Oh,” said Charnyetski, raising his head, “of what are you thinking?” “I am thinking of Zbaraj, how the besieged inflicted with sorties more than one great defeat on the ruffians.” “You are thinking of blood, like a wolf in the night.” “By the living God and his wounds, let us make a sortie! We will cut down men, spike guns! They expect no attack.” Charnyetski sprang to his feet. “And in the morning they will go wild. They imagine, perhaps, that they have frightened us enough and we are thinking of surrender; they will get their answer. As I love God, ’tis a splendid idea, a real knightly deed! That should have come to my head too. But it is needful to tell all to Kordetski, for he is commander.” They went. Kordetski was taking counsel in the chamber with Zamoyski. When he heard steps, he raised his voice and pushing a candle to one side, inquired,— “Who is coming? Is there anything new?”