The Deluge. Vol. 1

"Nor disloyalty. You confessed to me as to a father; I not only forgave you as a father, but I came to love you as that son-whom God has not given me, for which reason it is often oppressive for me in the world. Be then a friend to me."

When he had said this, the prince stretched out his hand. The young knight seized it, and without hesitation pressed it to his lips.

They were both silent for a long time; suddenly the prince fixed his eyes on the eyes of Kmita and said, "Panna Billevich is here!"

Kmita grew pale, and began to mutter something unintelligible.

"I sent for her on purpose so that the misunderstanding between you might be at an end. You will see her at once, as the mourning for her grandfather is over. To-day, too, though God sees that my head is bursting from labor, I have spoken with the sword-bearer of Rossyeni."

Kmita seized his head. "With what can I repay your highness, with what can I repay?"

"I told him emphatically that it is my will that you and she should be married, and he will not be hostile. I commanded him also to prepare the maiden for it gradually. We have time. All depends upon you, and I shall be happy if a reward from my hand goes to you; and God grant you to await many others, for you must rise high. You have offended because you are young; but you have won glory not the last in the field, and all young men are ready to follow you everywhere. As God lives, you must rise high! Small offices are not for such a family as yours. If you know, you are a relative of the Kishkis, and my mother was a Kishki. But you need sedateness; for that, marriage is the best thing. Take that maiden if she has pleased your heart, and remember who gives her to you."

"Your highness, I shall go wild, I believe! My life, my blood belongs to your highness. What must I do to thank you, – what? Tell me, command me!"

"Return good for good. Have faith in me, have confidence that what I do I do for the public good. Do not fall away from me when you see the treason and desertion of others, when malice increases, when-" Here the prince stopped suddenly.

"I swear," said Kmita, with ardor, "and give my word of honor to remain by the person of your highness, my leader, father, and benefactor, to my last breath."

Then Kmita looked with eyes full of fire at the prince, and was alarmed at the change which had suddenly come over him. His face was purple, the veins swollen, drops of sweat were hanging thickly on his lofty forehead, and his eyes cast an unusual gleam.

"What is the matter, your highness?" asked the knight, unquietly.

"Nothing! nothing!"

Radzivill rose, moved with hurried step to a kneeling desk, and taking from it a crucifix, said with powerful, smothered voice, "Swear on this cross that you will not leave me till death."

In spite of all his readiness and ardor, Kmita looked for a while at him with astonishment.

"On this passion of Christ, swear!" insisted the hetman.

"On this passion of Christ, I swear!" said Kmita, placing his finger on the crucifix.

"Amen!" said the prince, with solemn voice.

An echo in the lofty chamber repeated somewhere under the arch, "Amen," and a long silence followed. There was to be heard only the breathing of the powerful breast of Radzivill. Kmita did not remove from the hetman his astonished eyes.

"Now you are mine,' said the prince, at last.

"I have always belonged to your highness," answered the young knight, hastily; "but be pleased to explain to me what is passing. Why does your highness doubt? Or does anything threaten your person? Has any treason, have any machinations been discovered?"

"The time of trial is approaching," said the prince, gloomily, "and as to enemies do you not know that Pan Gosyevski, Pan Yudytski, and the voevoda of Vityebsk would be glad to bury me in the bottom of the pit? This is the case! The enemies of my house increase, treason spreads, and public defeats threaten. Therefore, I say, the hour of trial draws near."

Kmita was silent; but the last words of the prince did not disperse the darkness which had settled around his mind, and he asked himself in vain what could threaten at that moment the powerful Radzivill. For he stood at the head of greater forces than ever. In Kyedani itself and in the neighborhood there were so many troops that if the prince had such power before he marched to Shklov the fortune of the whole war would have come out differently beyond doubt.

Gosyevski and Yudytski were, it is true, ill-wishers, but he had both in his hands and under guard, and as to the voevoda of Vityebsk he was too virtuous a man, too good a citizen to give cause for fear of any opposition or machinations from his side on the eve of a new expedition against enemies.

"God knows I understand nothing!" cried Kmita, being unable in general to restrain his thoughts.

"You will understand all to-day," said Radzivill, calmly. "Now let us go to the hall."

And taking the young colonel by the arm, he turned with him toward the door. They passed through a number of rooms. From a distance out of the immense hall came the sound of the orchestra, which was directed by a Frenchman brought on purpose by Prince Boguslav. They were playing a minuet which at that time was danced at the French court. The mild tones were blended with the sound of many voices. Prince Radzivill halted and listened.

"God grant," said he, after a moment, "that all these guests whom I have received under my roof will not pass to my enemies to-morrow."

"Your highness," said Kmita, "I hope that there are no Swedish adherents among them."

Radzivill quivered and halted suddenly.

"What do you wish to say?"

"Nothing, worthy prince, but that honorable soldiers are rejoicing there."

"Let us go on. Time will show, and God will decide who is honorable. Let us go!"

At the door itself stood twenty pages, – splendid lads, dressed in feathers and satin. Seeing the hetman, they formed in two lines. When the prince came near, he asked, "Has her princely highness entered the hall?"

"She has, your highness."

"And the envoys?"

"They are here also."

"Open!"

Both halves of the door opened in the twinkle of an eye; a flood of light poured in and illuminated the gigantic form of the hetman, who having behind him Kmita and the pages, went toward the elevation on which were placed chairs for the most distinguished guests.

A movement began in the hall; at once all eyes were turned to the prince, and one shout was wrested from hundreds of breasts: "Long live Radzivill! long live! Long live the hetman! long live!"

The prince bowed with head and hand, then began to greet the guests assembled on the elevation, who rose the moment he entered. Among the best known, besides the princess herself, were the two Swedish envoys, the envoy of Moscow, the voevoda of Venden, Bishop Parchevski, the priest Byalozor, Pan Komorovski, Pan Myerzeyevski, Pan Hlebovich, starosta of Jmud, brother-in-law of the hetman, a young Pats, Colonel Ganhoff, Colonel Mirski, Weisenhoff, the envoy of the Prince of Courland, and ladies in the suite of the princess.

The hetman, as was proper for a welcoming host, began by greeting the envoys, with whom he exchanged a few friendly words; then he greeted others, and when he had finished he sat on the chair with a canopy of ermine, and gazed at the hall in which shouts' were still sounding: "May he live! May he be our hetman! May he live!"

Kmita, hidden behind the canopy, looked also at the throng. His glance darted from face to face, seeking among them the beloved features of her who at that moment held all the soul and heart of the knight. His heart beat like a hammer.

"She is here! After a while I shall see her, I shall speak to her," said he in thought. And he sought and sought with more and more eagerness, with increasing disquiet. "There! beyond the feathers of a fan some dark brows are visible, a white forehead and blond hair. That is she!" Kmita held his breath, as if fearing to frighten away the picture; then the feathers moved and the face was disclosed. "No! that is not Olenka, that is not that dear one, the dearest." His glance flies farther, embraces charming forms, slips over feathers and satin, faces blooming like flowers, and is mistaken each moment. That is she, not she! Till at last, see! in the depth, near the drapery of the window, something white is moving, and it grew dark in the eyes of the knight; that was Olenka, the dear one, the dearest.

The orchestra begins to play; again throngs pass. Ladies are moving around, shapely cavaliers are glittering; but he, like one blind and deaf, sees nothing, only looks at her as eagerly as if beholding her for the first time. She seems the same Olenka from Vodokty, but also another. In that great hall and in that throng she seems, as it were, smaller, and her face more delicate, one would say childlike. You might take her all in your arms and caress her! And then again she is the same, though different, – the very same features, the same sweet lips, the same lashes casting shade on her cheeks, the same forehead, clear, calm, beloved. Here memory, like lightning-flashes, began to bring before the eyes of Pan Andrei that servants' hall in Vodokty where he saw her the first time, and those quiet rooms in which they had sat together. What delight only just to remember! And the sleigh-ride to Mitruny, the time that he kissed her! After that, people began to estrange them, and to rouse her against him.

"Thunderbolts crush it!" cried Kmita, in his mind. "What have I had and what have I lost? How near she has been and how far is she now!"

She sits there far off, like a stranger; she does not even know that he is here. Wrath, but at the same time immeasurable sorrow seized Pan Andrei, – sorrow for which he had no expression save a scream from his soul, but a scream that passed not his lips: "O thou Olenka!"

More than once Kmita was so enraged at himself for his previous deeds that he wished to tell his own men to stretch him out and give him a hundred blows, but never had he fallen into such a rage as that time when after long absence he saw her again, still more wonderful than ever, more wonderful indeed than he had imagined. At that moment he wished to torture himself; but because he was among people, in a worthy company, he only ground his teeth, and as if wishing to give himself still greater pain, he repeated in mind: "It is good for thee thus, thou fool! good for thee!"

Then the sounds of the orchestra were silent again, and Pan Andrei heard the voice of the hetman: "Come with me."

Kmita woke as from a dream.