Pan Michael

"I should wish it to come out that even I am your equal. I do not expect it, but I should like it."

"If it were firing from pistols, I too would make a trial," said Pani Makovetski, laughing.

"As God lives, it must be that the Amazons themselves dwell in Latychov," said Zagloba. Here he turned to Krysia: "And what weapon do you use best, your ladyship?"

"None," answered Krysia.

"Ah, ha! none!" exclaimed Basia. And here, mimicking Krysia's voice, she began to sing: —

"'O knights, believe me,
Useless is armor,
Shields give no service;
Cupid's keen arrows,
Through steel and iron,
Go to all hearts.'

"She wields arms of that kind; never fear," added Basia, turning to Pan Michael and Zagloba. "In that she is a warrior of no common skill."

"Take your place, young lady!" said Pan Michael, wishing to conceal a slight confusion.

"Oh, as God lives! if what I think should come true!" cried Basia, blushing with delight.

And she stood at once in position with a light Polish sabre in her right hand; the left she put behind her, and with breast pushed forward, with raised head and dilated nostrils, she was so pretty and so rosy that Zagloba whispered to Pan Michael's sister, "No decanter, even if filled with Hungarian a hundred years old, would delight me so much with the sight of it."

"Remember," said the little knight to Basia, "that I will only defend myself; I will not thrust once. You may attack as quickly as you choose."

"Very well. If you wish me to stop, give the word."

"The fencing could be stopped without a word, if I wished."

"And how could that be done?"

"I could take the sabre easily out of the hand of a fencer like you."

"We shall see!"

"We shall not, for I will not do so, through politeness."

"There is no need of politeness in this case. Do it if you can. I know that I have less skill than you, but still I will not let that be done."

"Then you permit it?"

"I permit it."

"Oh, do not permit, sweetest haiduk," said Zagloba. "He has disarmed the greatest masters."

"We shall see!" repeated Basia.

"Let us begin," said Pan Michael, made somewhat impatient by the boasting of the maiden.

They began. Basia thrust terribly, skipping around like a pony in a field. Volodyovski stood in one place, making, according to his wont, the slightest movements of the sabre, paying but little respect to the attack.

"You brush me off like a troublesome fly!" cried the irritated Basia.

"I am not making a trial of you; I am teaching you," answered the little knight. "That is good! For a fair head, not bad at all! Steadier with the hand!"

"'For a fair head?' You call me a fair head! you do! you do!"

But Pan Michael, though Basia used her most celebrated thrusts, was untouched. Even he began to talk with Zagloba, of purpose to show how little he cared for Basia's thrusts: "Step away from the window, for you are in the lady's light; and though a sabre is larger than a needle, she has less experience with the sabre."

Basia's nostrils dilated still more, and her forelock fell to her flashing eyes. "Do you hold me in contempt?" inquired she, panting quickly.

"Not your person; God save me from that!"

"I cannot endure Pan Michael!"

"You learned fencing from a schoolmaster." Again he turned to Zagloba: "I think snow is beginning to fall."

"Here is snow! snow for you!" repeated Basia, giving thrust after thrust.

"Basia, that is enough! you are barely breathing," said Pani Makovetski.

"Now hold to your sabre, for I will strike it from your hand."

"We shall see!"

"Here!" And the little sabre, hopping like a bird out of Basia's hands, fell with a rattle near the stove.

"I let it go myself without thinking! It was not you who did that!" cried the young lady, with tears in her voice; and seizing the sabre, in a twinkle she thrust again: "Try it now."

"There!" said Pan Michael. And again the sabre was at the stove. "That is enough for to-day," said the little knight.

Pani Makovetski began to bustle about and talk louder than usual; but Basia stood in the middle of the room, confused, stunned, breathing heavily, biting her lips and repressing the tears which were crowding into her eyes in spite of her. She knew that they would laugh all the more if she burst out crying, and she wished absolutely to restrain herself; but seeing that she could not, she rushed from the room on a sudden.

"For God's sake!" cried Pani Makovetski. "She has run to the stable, of course, and being so heated, will catch cold. Some one must go for her. Krysia, don't you go!"

So saying, she went out, and seizing a warm shuba in the ante-room, hurried to the stable; and after her ran Zagloba, troubled about his little haiduk. Krysia wished to go also, but the little knight held her by the hand. "You heard the prohibition. I will not let this hand go till they come back."

And, in fact, he did not let it go. But that hand was as soft as satin. It seemed to Pan Michael that a kind of warm current was flowing from those slender fingers into his bones, rousing in them an uncommon pleasantness; therefore he held them more firmly. A slight blush flew over Krysia's face. "I see that I am a prisoner taken captive."

"Whoever should take such a prisoner would not have reason to envy the Sultan, for the Sultan would gladly give half his kingdom for her."

"But you would not sell me to the Pagans?"

"Just as I would not sell my soul to the Devil."

Here Pan Michael remarked that momentary enthusiasm had carried him too far, and he corrected himself: "As I would not sell my sister."

"That is the right word," said Krysia, seriously. "I am a sister in affection to your sister, and I will be the same to you."