With Fire and Sword - Henryk Sienkiewicz (ink book reader .TXT) 📗

in a voice which to him seemed music as sweet as the sound of lyres and flutes⁠—“How can I thank you for defending the good name of my father against the injustice which is put upon it by his nearest relatives?”

The lieutenant felt his heart melting like snow in springtime, and answered: “May God be as good to me as I am ready to rush into the fire or shed my blood for such thanks, though the service is so slight that I ought not to accept a reward.”

“If you contemn my thanks, then I, poor orphan, have no other way to show my gratitude.”

“I do not contemn them,” said he, with growing emphasis; “but for such favor I wish to perform true and enduring service, and I only beg you to accept me for that service.”

The princess, hearing these words, blushed, was confused, then suddenly grew pale, raised her hands to her face, and said in a sad voice: “Such a service could bring only misfortune to you.”

The lieutenant bent through the door of the carriage, and spoke quietly and feelingly: “Let it bring what God gives; even should it bring suffering, still I am ready to fall at your feet and beg for it.”

“It cannot be that you, who have just seen me for the first time, should conceive such a great desire for that service.”

“I had scarcely seen you when I had forgotten myself altogether, and I see that it has come to the soldier hitherto free to be changed to a captive; but such clearly is the will of God. Love is like an arrow which pierces the breast unexpectedly; and now I feel its sting, though yesterday I should not have believed this if any man had told it me.”

“If you could not have believed it yesterday, how am I to believe it today?”

“Time will convince you best; but you can see my sincerity even now, not only in my words but in my face.”

Again the princess raised her eyes, and her glance met the manly and noble face of the young soldier, and his look, so full of rapture that a deep crimson covered her face. But she did not lower her glance, and for a time he drank in the sweetness of those wonderful eyes, and they looked at each other like two beings who, though they have met merely on the highroad through the steppe, feel in a flash that they have chosen each other, and that their souls begin to rush to a meeting like two doves.

The moment of exaltation was disturbed for them by the sharp voice of Constantine’s widow calling to the princess. The carriages had arrived. The attendants began to transfer the packages from the carriages, and in a moment everything was ready. Pan Rozvan Ursu, the gracious boyar, gave up his own carriage to the two ladies, the lieutenant mounted his horse, and all moved forward.

The day was nearing its rest. The swollen waters of the Kagamlik were bright with gold of the setting sun, and purple of the evening light. High in the heavens flocks of small clouds reddening drifted slowly to the horizon, as if, tired from flying through the air, they were going to sleep somewhere in an unknown cradle.

Pan Yan rode by the side of Princess Helena, but without conversation, since he could not speak to her before strangers as he had spoken a few moments before, and frivolous words would not pass his lips now. But in his heart he felt happiness, and in his head something sounding as if from wine.

The whole caravan pushed on briskly, and quiet was broken only by the snorting of the horses or the clank of stirrup against stirrup. After a time the escort at the rear wagons began a plaintive Wallachian song; soon, however, they stopped, and immediately the nasal voice of Pan Longin was heard singing piously⁠—

“In heaven I caused an endless light to dwell,
And mist I spread o’er all the earth.”

That moment it grew dark, the stars twinkled in the sky, and from the damp plains white mists rose, boundless as the sea.

They entered a forest, but had gone only a few furlongs when the sound of horses’ feet was heard and five riders appeared before the caravan. They were the young princes, who, informed by the driver of the accident which had happened to their mother, were hurrying to meet her, bringing a wagon drawn by four horses.

“Is that you, my sons?” called out the old princess.

The riders approached the carriage. “We, mother!”

“Come this way! Thanks to these gentlemen, we need no more assistance. These are my sons, whom I commend to your favor, gentlemen⁠—Simeon, Yury, Andrei, Nikolai⁠—And who is the fifth?” asked she, looking around attentively. “Oh! if my old eyes can see in the darkness, it is Bogun.”

The princess drew back quickly to the depth of the carriage.

“Greetings to you, Princess, and to you, Princess Helena!” said the fifth.

“Ah, Bogun! You have come from the regiment, my falcon? And have you brought your lute? Welcome, welcome! Well, my sons, I have asked these gentlemen to spend the night with us at Rozlogi; and now greet them! A guest in the house is God in the house. Be gracious to our house, gentlemen!”

The young men removed their caps. “We entreat you most respectfully to cross our lowly threshold.”

“They have already promised me⁠—the envoy has promised and the lieutenant. We shall receive honorable guests, but I am not sure that our poor fare will be savory for men accustomed to castle dainties.”

“We are reared on the fare of soldiers, not of castles,” said Skshetuski.

And Pan Rozvan added: “I have tried the hospitality of country-houses, and know that it is better than that of castles.”

The carriages moved on, and the old princess continued: “Our best days have passed long ago. In Volynia and Lithuania there are still members of the Kurtsevich family who have retinues of attendants and live in lordly