this bird. He is from the Chenstohova garrison. His name is Babinich."
Kmita was silent; pallor and weariness were evident on his face, but his glance was bold and his countenance calm.
"Did you blow up the siege-gun?" asked Miller.
"I did."
"How did you do it?"
Kmita stated all briefly, concealed nothing. The officers looked at one another in amazement.
"A hero!" whispered the Prince of Hesse to Sadovski.
But Sadovski inclined to Count Veyhard. "Count Veyhard," asked he, "how are we to take a fortress with such defenders? What do you think, will they surrender?"
"There are more of us in the fortress ready for such deeds," said Kmita. "You know not the day nor the hour."
"I too have more than one halter in the camp," said Miller.
"We know that. But you will not take Yasna Gora while there is one man alive there."
A moment of silence followed. Then Miller inquired, —
"Is your name Babinich?"
Pan Andrei thought that after what he had done, and in presence of death, the time had come in which he had no need to conceal his name. Let people forget the faults and transgressions bound up with it; let glory and devotion shine over them.
"My name is not Babinich," said he, with a certain pride, "my name is Andrei Kmita; I was colonel of my own personal squadron in the Lithuanian contingent."
Hardly had Kuklinovski heard this when he sprang up as if possessed, stuck out his eyes, opened his mouth, and began to strike his sides with his hands. At last he cried, —
"General, I beg for a word without delay, without delay."
A murmur rose at the same time among the Polish officers, which the Swedes heard with wonder, since for them the name Kmita meant nothing. They noted at once that this must be no common soldier, for Zbrojek rose, and approaching the prisoner said, —
"Worthy colonel, in the straits in which you are I cannot help you; but give me your hand, I pray."
Kmita raised his head and began to snort.
"I will not give a hand to traitors who serve against their country!"
Zbrojek's face flushed. Kalinski, who stood right behind him, withdrew. The Swedish officers surrounded them at once, asking what man this Kmita was whose name had made such an impression. During this time Kuklinovski had squeezed Miller up to the window, and said, —
"For your worthiness the name Kmita is nothing; but he is the first soldier, the first colonel, in the whole Commonwealth. All know of him, all know that name; once he served Radzivill and the Swedes; now it is clear that he has gone over to Yan Kazimir. There is not his equal among soldiers, save me. He was the only man who could go alone and blow up that gun. From this one deed you may know him. He fought Hovanski, so that a reward was put on his head. He with two or three hundred men kept up the whole war after the defeat at Shklov, until others were found who, imitating him, began to tear at the enemy. He is the most dangerous man in all the country – "
"Why do you sing his praises to me?" inquired Miller. "That he is dangerous I know to my own irreparable loss."
"What does your worthiness think of doing with him?"
"I should give orders to hang him; but being a soldier myself, I know how to value daring and bravery. Besides, he is a noble of high birth, – I will order him shot, and that to-day."
"Your worthiness, it is not for me to instruct the most celebrated soldier and statesman of modern times; but I permit myself to say that that man is too famous. If you shoot him, Zbrojek's squadron and Kalinski's will withdraw at the latest this very day, and go over to Yan Kazimir."
"If that is true, I'll have them cut to pieces before they go!" cried Miller.
"Your worthiness, a terrible responsibility! for if that becomes known, – and the cutting down of two squadrons is hard to hide, – the whole Polish army will leave Karl Gustav; at present their loyalty is tottering, as you know. The hetmans are not reliable. Pan Konyetspolski with six thousand of the best cavalry is at the side of our king. That force is no trifle. God defend us if these too should turn against us, against the person of his Royal Grace! Besides, this fortress defends itself; and to cut down the squadrons of Zbrojek and Kalinski is no easy matter, for Wolf is here too with his infantry. They might come to an agreement with the garrison of the fortress."
"A hundred horned devils!" cried Miller; "what do you want, Kuklinovski? do you want me to give Kmita his life? That cannot be."
"I want," answered Kuklinovski, "you to give him to me."
"What will you do with him?"
"Ah, I – will tear him alive from his skin."
"You did not know even his real name, you do not know him. What have you against him?"
"I made his acquaintance first in the fortress, where I have been twice as an envoy to the monks."
"Have you reasons for vengeance?"
"Your worthiness, I wished privately to bring him to our camp. He, taking advantage of the fact that I laid aside my office of envoy, insulted me, Kuklinovski, as no man in life has insulted me."
"What did he do to you?"
Kuklinovski trembled and gnashed his teeth. "Better not speak of it. Only give him to me. He is doomed to death anyhow, and I would like before his end to have a little amusement with him, – all the more because he is the Kmita whom formerly I venerated, and who repaid me in such fashion. Give him to me; it will be better for you. If I rub him out, Zbrojek and Kalinski and with them all the Polish knighthood will fall not upon you, but upon me, and I'll help myself. There will not be anger, wry faces, and mutiny. It will be my private matter about Kmita's skin, of which I shall have a drum made."
Miller fell to thinking; a sudden suspicion flashed over his face.
"Kuklinovski," said he, "maybe you wish to save him?"
Kuklinovski smiled quietly, but that smile was so terrible and sincere that Miller ceased to doubt.
"Perhaps you give sound advice," said he.
"For all my services I beg this reward only."
"Take him, then."
Now both returned to the room where the rest of the officers were assembled. Miller turned to them and said, —
"In view of the services of Pan Kuklinovski I place at his absolute disposal this prisoner."
A moment of silence followed; then Pan Zbrojek put his hands on his sides, and asked with a certain accent of contempt, —
"And what does Pan Kuklinovski think to do with the prisoner?"
Kuklinovski bent, straightened himself quickly, his lips opened with an ill-omened smile, and his eyes began to quiver.
"Whoso is not pleased with what I do to the prisoner, knows where to find me." And he shook his sabre.
"Your
