“Why, Yagustynka has been whispering something of the sort for ever so long.” “Of course they will put him in the stocks, and then in prison.” “But,” cried Balcerkova, whose pride was that she knew the law, “what can they do to him? Who has seen the man? What witnesses are there?” “Well, but did not Boryna catch him in the act?” “Yes; but not in _that_ act.—Besides, even had it been that, his testimony is worthless, because he is at odds with his son!” “After all, ’tis the court’s business, not ours; but who, before God and man, is guilty of it all, if not that foul wench Yagna?” Balcerkova continued sternly, raising her voice. “You say true!—Ah, such wickedness, such depravity!” they assented, speaking lower and thronging closer, as they recounted her former misdeeds. Little by little, their voices rose loud in condemnation of Yagna’s behaviour. All the old offences which had caused their hatred, now again returned to their minds: a shower of epithets, reproaches, threats, and evil spiteful words, were hurled at her; and their fury was so hot that, had she appeared among them at that instant, she would surely have been attacked and beaten. The men, on the other side, were discussing Antek, more calmly, but not with less animosity. Every heart was full of indignation and bitterness. More than one fist was shaken with dangerous menace, more than one word of harsh import flew about. Even Matthew, who had been on his side at first, forsook him now, only saying: “Well, if the man had dared to attempt such a thing, he must needs be out of his mind.” Thereupon the blacksmith entered the lists, speaking loud, with furious passion, and pointing out to them that Antek had long ago threatened his father he would burn him down; that Boryna had known of his threats, and been in the habit of keeping watch every night. “Yes, I could take my oath it was he that did it.—Besides, there are witnesses who will speak; he must—he must be punished! Was he not always plotting with the farm-hands, setting them against their betters, egging them on to evil deeds?—Yes, and I know,” he cried in threatening tones, “I know more than one of these—I see them here before me, and they hear me speak ... and yet they dare to stand up for such a scoundrel—one who taints the whole place!... To prison, to Siberia with the wretch! What—with his own stepmother! Was not that crime heinous enough, without adding to it arson besides? ’Tis a wonder any of us is yet alive!”... And so he went on, shrieking and shouting so vehemently that he might be guessed to have a purpose in doing so. Roch, who stood with Klemba not far off, took good note of this, and said: “Ye make a mighty uproar against him, yet ye were drinking with him in the tavern only yesterday!” “Whoso would beggar all the village is my foe!” “And yet,” Klemba gravely remarked, “the Squire is no foe of yours!”