“But if that is true, then come and tell us the news. The king is almost dead from anxiety because he has had no certain tidings these three days. How is it? You are perhaps from the squadron of Zbrojek, Kalinski, or Kuklinovski, from near Chenstohova.” “Not from near Chenstohova, but directly from the cloister itself.” “Are you not jesting? What is going on there, what is to be heard? Does Yasna Gora defend itself yet?” “It does, and will defend itself. The Swedes are about to retreat.” “For God’s sake! The king will cover you with gold. From the very cloister do you say that you have come? How did the Swedes let you pass?” “I did not ask their permission; but pardon me, I cannot give a more extended account in the church.” “Right, right!” said Pan Lugovski. “God is merciful! You have fallen from heaven to us! It is not proper in the church,—right! Wait a moment. The king will rise directly; he will go to breakfast before high Mass. To-day is Sunday. Come stand with me at the door, and when the king is going out I will present you. Come, come, there is no time to spare.” He pushed ahead, and Kmita followed. They had barely taken their places at the door when the two pages appeared, and after them came Yan Kazimir slowly. “Gracious King!” cried Pan Lugovski, “there are tidings from Chenstohova.” The wax-like face of Yan Kazimir became animated in an instant. “What tidings? Where is the man?” inquired he. “This noble; he says that he has come from the very cloister.” “Is the cloister captured?” cried the king. That moment Pan Andrei fell his whole length at the feet of the king. Yan Kazimir inclined and began to raise him by the arms. “Oh, ceremony another time, another time!” cried he. “Rise, in God’s name, rise! Speak quickly! Is the cloister taken?” Kmita sprang up with tears in his eyes, and cried with animation,— “It is not, and will not be taken, Gracious Lord. The Swedes are beaten. The great gun is blown up. There is fear among them, hunger, misery. They are thinking of retreat.” “Praise, praise to Thee, Queen of the Angels and of us!” said the king. Then he turned to the church door, removed his hat, and without entering knelt on the snow at the door. He supported his head on a stone pillar, and sank into silence. After a while sobbing began to shake him. Emotion seized all, and Pan Andrei wept loudly. The king, after he had prayed and shed tears, rose quieted, with a face much clearer. He inquired his name of Kmita, and when the latter had told his assumed one, said,— “Let Pan Lugovski conduct you at once to our quarters. We shall not take our morning food without hearing of the defence.” A quarter of an hour later Kmita was standing in the king’s chamber before a distinguished assembly. The king was only waiting for the queen, to sit down to breakfast. Marya Ludvika appeared soon. Yan Kazimir barely saw her when he exclaimed,—