“I went directly after Father’s funeral, but was told he was only to be released in a week: that is, on Saturday next.” “And the bail—what of the bail? Have ye paid the money in?” “Roch is seeing to that,” she replied, with cautious reserve. “If ye cannot pay, I am willing to vouch for Antek.” “Thanks, most heartily,” she said, bending down to his feet. “It may be that Roch can arrange all things by himself, if not, he will be forced to take other measures.” “But remember: should need arise, I’ll vouch for him.” He went farther, and perceived Yagna, sitting close to the wall near her mother, and deep in prayer; unable to invent any topic or pretext of conversation, he only smiled at her, and returned to his own people. Her eyes followed them, she being very much interested in the young ladies, who were clad in such sort that she could not but wonder, marvelling also at the whiteness of their faces and the slimness of their waists. Lord! and they breathed forth such sweet fragrance, sweet as the perfumed whorls from a censer! And the thing they flirted to cool their cheeks! why, it was just like a turkey’s tail!—And how those young Squires came and ogled them! And they laughed so loud that the people around were shocked! Then, from the end of the village, perhaps from the bridge near the mill, there came a sudden clattering and rumbling, while volumes of dust rose above the trees. “Come too late for Mass!” Pete whispered to Hanka. “Just in time to put out the candles!” someone said with a laugh. Others peeped over the wall to look out on the road that skirted the pond. Very soon, in a tempest of noisy barking, a long line of great white-tilted vans came in sight. “The Germans! The Germans from Podlesie!” was the cry. It was true. There were fifteen of these vans, more or less, drawn by stout draught-horses. Women and children, sitting within, and a complete assortment of domestic furniture, were visible under the canvas coverings. Beside these vans marched a lot of burly red-headed Germans, puffing at their pipes. Great dogs ran by their sides, often showing their teeth and barking back at the Lipka dogs, which attacked them furiously. The people drew near to look at them, several even leaving the churchyard to see them closer. They drove by slowly, making their way with difficulty through the jumble of wagons and horses; but, on passing in front of the church, not one of them so much as doffed his cap. Their eyes were glaring, their beards bristling—with hatred, no doubt. And they eyed the people with murderous looks. “Ha! ha! Long-Trousers!... Carrion!” “Ye horse-begotten ones!” “Droppings of swine!” And other epithets fell, thick as hail. “Well?” Matthew called out to them. “Who has won the day, O Fatherlanders?” “Who is forced to leave, you or we?” “Our fists are too heavy; is it not so?” “Come, stay awhile; ’tis our local feast.—We’ll make merry with you in the tavern.”