Again they rode on in silence. The tired horses lessened their speed by degrees, till at last they were going at a walk. That monotonous movement lulled to sleep Pan Andrei, who was mortally wearied, and he slept long, nodding in the saddle. He was roused only by the white light of day. He looked around with amazement, for in the first moment it seemed to him that everything through which he had passed in that night was merely a dream; at last he inquired,— “Is that you, Kyemlich? Are we riding from Chenstohova?” “Of course, your grace.” “But where are we?” “Oho, in Silesia already. Here the Swedes will not get us.” “That is well!” said Kmita, coming to his senses completely. “But where is our gracious king living?” “At Glogov.” “We will go there then to bow down to our lord, and offer him service. But listen, old man, to me.” “I am listening, your grace.” Kmita fell to thinking, however, and did not speak at once. He was evidently combining something in his head; he hesitated, considered, and at last said: “It cannot be otherwise!” “I am listening, your grace,” repeated Kyemlich. “Neither to the king nor to any man at the court must you mutter who I am. I call myself Babinich, I am faring from Chenstohova. Of the great gun and of Kuklinovski you may talk, so that my intentions be not misconstrued, and I be considered a traitor, for in my blindness I aided and served Prince Radzivill; of this they may have heard at the court.” “I may speak of what your grace did at Chenstohova—” “But who will show that ’tis true till the siege is over?” “I will act at your command.” “The day will come for truth to appear at the top,” added Kmita, as it were to himself, “but first our gracious lord must convince himself. Later he also will give me his witness.”