Their curiosity increased hourly, still unsatisfied. Every now and then, someone would rush in, with the breathless announcement that the gendarmes were at Antek’s; or swore that he had overpowered them, broken his fetters, and got away. And others had other facts at hand, not less sure than these. One thing was beyond doubt. Vitek had run to the tavern to get vodka, and great volumes of smoke were pouring out of Boryna’s chimney: which told of good cheer preparing within. Then evening came, clerk and gendarmes drove off in the Voyt’s britzka.—But Antek was not along with them! Great was the wonder and disappointment of the village folk. All had expected to see him carried off in chains. It was in vain that they put their heads together to guess what the old man’s testimony had been. That only the Voyt and the Soltys knew: and they kept their own counsel. So the village was in a fever of curiosity; and manifold conjectures, some of them quite incredible, were put forth. The night fell slowly, dark and quiet enough; the snow no longer fell, and there were signs of a slight frost at hand; for a star or two glittered in the sky, and a bleak wind was hardening the wet expanses of snow which began to break underfoot into thin crackling splinters. Lights shone from within the cabins, where the folk, closely crowded, rested from the emotions of the day and gave rein to yet more conjectures and surmises. The field was a wide one. Antek had not been arrested: so he was innocent of having burnt the rick. Then who was guilty? Not Yagna, certainly: no one dreamed she was. And as little did anyone think of accusing old Boryna. So they groped and groped in the dark, quite unable to find any solution of the mystery. There was no hut wherein the question was not debated, nor any where they arrived at the truth. The only outcome of all these debates was that people were no longer set against Antek. Even his enemies’ mouths were stopped; and his friends, Matthew amongst them, once more lifted up their voices in his favour. On the other hand, their fierce hatred for Yagna became still more envenomed. With cruel tongues, the women set themselves to deal with her, dragging her as through a wilderness of thorns and briers. Dominikova, too, came in for her share, and no small one either: being all the more spitefully treated, because no one could say what had become of Yagna; her mother had driven all busybodies from her door, as one drives away troublesome dogs. But all unanimously felt profound compassion and sympathy for Hanka, whom they pitied sincerely, and heartily condoled with. Klemba’s wife and Sikora had even gone to her that same evening, bearing with them presents in bundles for the poor woman.