"How is that?"

"I am going myself to the war."

"Do you wish to serve again in the army?" asked Father Voynovski, in astonishment.

"Yes, and no; for it is one thing to go to the army and make a career out of service, and another to go on a single expedition. Of course, I am old, but older than I have gone to the ranks more than once in reply to Gradiva's trumpet. I have sent my only son, that is true, but it is not possible to yield up too much for the country. Thus did my fathers think, therefore, that Mother showed them the greatest honor at her disposal. Hence my last copper coin, and my last drop of blood are now ready to be sacrificed for her sake! Should it come to die--think, your grace, what n.o.bler death, what greater happiness could meet me? A man must die once, and is there not greater pleasure in dying on the field of glory, at the side of one's son, than in bed; to die from a sabre or a bullet than from sickness; in addition fighting against pagans for the faith and the country?"

Then Pan Serafin, moved by his own words, opened his arms and repeated,--

"G.o.d grant this! G.o.d grant this!"

Then Father Voynovski took him in his arms, and pressing him, said,--

"G.o.d grant that in this Commonwealth there be as many men like you as possible; there are not many as honorable, more honorable there are none whatever. It is true that it becomes a n.o.ble better to die on the field than in bed, and in old times every man held that idea, but to-day worse times have come on us. The country and the faith are one immense altar, and a man is a morsel of myrrh, predestined for burning to the glory of that altar. Yes, times are worse at the present. Then war is nothing new to you?"

Pan Serafin felt his breast, and continued,--

"I have here a few wounds from sabres and shots of the old time."

"It would be pleasanter for me to defend the flag," said Father Voynovski, "than listen to old women's sins in this neighborhood. And more than one of them tells me such nonsense, just as if she had come to shake out fleas at confession. When a man commits sin he has at least something to speak about, and all the more if he is a soldier!

When I took this robe of a priest I became a chaplain in the regiment of Pan Modlishevski. Ah, I remember that well. Between one absolution of sins and another there was sometimes a shooting in the teeth, or blades were drawn. Ah, there was great need of chaplains in that time.

I should like now to go, but my parish is large, and there is a tempest of work in it; the vicar is wilful but worst of all is a wound from a gunshot, which I received long ago, and which does not let me stay more than an hour in the saddle."

"I should be happy to have a comrade," said Pan Serafin, "but I understand that even without that wound your grace could not leave the parish."

"Well, I shall see. In a couple of days I will ride and learn how long I can stay in the saddle. Something may have straightened out in me.

But who will look to the management at Yedlinka?"

"I have a forester, a simple man, but so honest that he might almost be canonized."

"I know; that one who is followed by wild beasts. Some say that he is a wizard; you know better, however. But he is old and sickly."

"I wish to take also that Vilchopolski who on a time served Pan Gideon.

Perhaps you remember him? a young n.o.ble who lost one foot, but he is vigorous and daring. Krepetski removed him because he was too independent. He came to me two days ago offering his service, and to-day I will agree with him surely. Pan Gideon did not like him, since the man would not let any one blow on his pudding, but Pan Gideon praised his activity and faithfulness."

"What is to be heard in Belchantska?"

"I have not been there for some time. It is clear that Vilchopolski does not praise the Krepetskis, but I had no chance to inquire about everything in detail."

"I will look in there to-morrow, though they are not over glad to behold me, and then I will return to rub the ears of the Bukoyemskis. I will command them to come to confession, and for penance the whips will be moving. Let them give one another fifty lashes; that will be good for them."

"It will, that is certain. But now I must take farewell of your grace because of Vilchopolski."

Then Pan Serafin shortened his belt-strap, so that his sabre might not be in the way when he was entering the wagon. A moment later he was on the road moving toward Yedlinka, thinking meanwhile of his expedition, and smiling at the thought that he would work stirrup to stirrup with his one son, against pagans. After he had pa.s.sed Belchantska he saw two horses under packs, and a trunk-laden wagon which Vilchopolski was driving. He commanded the young man to sit over into his wagon, and then he inquired,--

"Are you leaving Belchantska already?"

Vilchopolski pointed to the trunks, and wishing to prove that though he served he was not without learning, he said,--

"See, your grace, _omnia mea mec.u.m porto_" (I am taking all my things with me).

"Then was there such a hurry?"

"There was not a hurry, but there was need; therefore I accept all your grace's conditions with pleasure, and in case you go away, as you have mentioned, I will guard your house and possessions with faithfulness."

Pan Serafin was pleased with the answer and the daring, firm face of the young man; so, after a moment of meditation, he added,--

"Of faithfulness I have no doubt, for I know that you are a n.o.ble, but inexperience I fear, and incautiousness. In Yedlinka one must sit like a stone, and watch day and night, because it is almost in the wilderness, and in great forests there is no lack of bandits, who at times attack houses."

"I do not wish an attack upon Yedlinka, but for myself I should like it, to convince your grace that courage and alertness would not be lacking on my part."

"You look as though you had both," said Pan Serafin.

He was silent a while, and then continued,--

"There is one other thing of importance of which to forewarn you. Pan Gideon is in G.o.d's hands at the present, and touching the dead nothing save that which is good may be mentioned; but it is known that he was hard to his people. Father Voynovski blamed him for this, and there was variance between them. The sweat of the peasant was not spared in Belchantska; trials were short and punishment grievous. We will be outspoken--there was oppression, and his agents were too cruel with people. This is not my case, be sure of that; there must be discipline, but paternal. I look on excessive severity as a great sin against G.o.d and the country. Fix it well in your mind that a man is not curds, and it is not allowable to press him too cruelly. I do not wring out people's tears--and I remember that before G.o.d all are equal."

A moment of silence followed. Vilchopolski seized Pan Serafin's hand and put his lips to it.

"I see that you understand me," said Pan Serafin.

"I understand, your grace; and I answer, More than a hundred times I wanted to say to Pan Gideon: 'Find another manager;' more than a hundred times I wanted to go from his service, but--well, I could not do so."

"Why was that? Is there a lack of work in the world?"

Vilchopolski was confused and spoke as if fear had seized hold of him.

"It did not happen--I could not go--day after day I loitered. Besides, there was severity, and there was not."

"How was that?"

"The people were driven to work, it is true, no one could prevent that; but as to flogging, I will say briefly that instead of whips straw ropes were used on them."

"Who was so merciful--you?"

"No. But I chose to obey the will of an angel, not that of a devil."

"I understand, but tell me whose will?"

"Panna Anulka's."

"Ah! so it was she?"

"Really an angel. She too was in dread of Pan Gideon, who in recent times only began to regard what she told him. But all loved her so much that each man exposed himself to Pan Gideon's anger rather than refuse what she asked of him."

"May G.o.d bless her for that! So you all conspired against Pan Gideon?"

"Yes, your grace."