"While the inhabitants of Zulawce thus excitedly waited for the events of the coming night, their busy imagination beguiling the slow hours with various visions of the hapless mandatar, beholding him either hanged, or shot, or burnt alive, this gentleman himself was similarly engaged. That is to say, he also was waiting excitedly for the night, endeavouring to shorten the agony of delay by picturing to himself the approaching crisis. But the images he had in view were of a vastly different nature. For he was nowise hiding in an iron closet at Zulawce, which, even if he had desired it, would have been impossible, for the simple reason that there was no such stronghold; but he was at that moment comfortably established in the snug little smoking-room of his chambers at Colomea--his refuge, both for his pleasures and, perchance now, in trouble. He had just returned from a dinner which the district governor at this season was in the habit of giving to the officials of the place; and between the blue circles ascending from his expensive cheroot he now beheld visions--imagining the impending scenes at an evening party to which the richest man of the neighbourhood, Herr Bogdan von Antoniewicz, an Armenian, had invited a small but select company. These scenes presumably would be of a pleasant nature, for Mr. Hajek kept smiling--nay, he even skipped about his room the while he puffed his fragrant cloudlets with a sort of irrepressible delight. But if he was expecting some happy event it appeared to be a critical one also, to judge from the nervous action with which he kept pulling out his watch, and there was even an occasional shadow of seriousness gliding over his finely-cut but dissipated features. But this was like a noonday cloud, only darkening for a moment the brilliant sky, and the mandatar returned to his smiles.
"Pshaw," he said, stopping before his looking-glass and twirling his moustache, "as if I had not made sure of her virtues myself!... three of them! And for the rest of it----" he paused, bowing profoundly to his image in the glass; "for the rest of it, Mr. Hajek, please to bear in mind your history and your present dilemma. Ha! ha!" He appeared immensely tickled with this pretence at honesty; it seemed quite a joke to ruminate over a bit of self-knowledge, and it kept him in the best of humour till the clock struck eight, when he rang for his valet, and, having completed his toilet, he drove to the villa of the Armenian.
It was early for an evening party of distinction, and Mr. Hajek, who had lived in Paris, and therefore was looked upon as an oracle of good style by all who pretended to be fashionable at Colomea, would under ordinary circumstances never have sinned so grievously against the laws he himself had established. But in the present case it was incumbent on him to be the first of the guests. For these were not ordinary circumstances, but, on the contrary, an event which as a rule comes but once in life; he was driving to the villa in order to celebrate his betrothal with the widowed Countess Wanda Koninski, the Armenian's only daughter. It was indeed an event! and the several actors in the little comedy had even drawn up a programme for the most suitable expression of their feelings.
It has been maintained by people of experience that it is not so much fiery love which ensures the happiest marriages--since the flame too often is sadly transient--but rather an even share of mutual understanding and a certain sympathetic perception of each other's aims in life. If it be so, the mandatar and the young widow might fairly be congratulated. And again, if it be true that a man's relations with his parents-in-law, in order to be satisfactory, must preclude the possibility of a delusion on either side concerning each other's moral worth, not a shadow of a doubt could be entertained but that the mandatar and the parents of his bride elect would yield a spectacle of the most charming friendship--quite hand in glove, in fact. For, excepting Mr. Hajek himself, Herr Bogdan von Antoniewicz certainly was the greatest rascal of the district.
This prosperous man did not like to be reminded of his earlier years, nor was he ever heard to refer to his ancestors, although they had been honest cattle-drovers in Moldavia. He himself had pursued this occupation in his youth: but possessing a kind of prudence which rendered his conscience easy and his money-bag close, he managed to make a little capital, establishing cattle trading on his own account.
Then it happened, as he would describe it, that a sore blow was experienced by the death of the best of uncles, a merchant at Constantinople, who had made him his heir. The chief facts were correct, and the deceased had left his money to his nephew, only it was not Bogdan who was that nephew, but a poor man of the name of Mikita, who was in Bogdan's service. The latter had received a ponderous document with seals and flourishes, announcing to him his uncle's bequest; and, being unable to read, he had taken it to his master. Bogdan read it--there was a legacy of ten thousand ducats--and he was seized with a feeling of vast sympathy with the humble man. He remembered that Mikita had nine ragged children, and that a shower of riches coming thus suddenly could be no blessing, since, no doubt, it would teach him to be thriftless. He said, therefore, to his labourer, "You're a lucky dog, to be sure, there's your uncle dead and left you ten ducats!" This, of course, was to try the man, to see if he were worthy of a great fortune; for what would become of his poor children, mused the philanthropic Bogdan, if he made away with his ten thousand ducats, leading a riotous life and turning his back upon work! Let him prove first how he will take the lesser luck. The poor man but ill stood the test. He had never known such wealth, and simply cried with delight, begging his master to lend him a ducat on the strength of his inheritance. Bogdan did so, hoping the man would not waste so great a sum, but put it out at interest discreetly. But Mikita, that spendthrift, knew no better investment than some new clothes for his little ones, also giving them a regular good meal for once. After awhile he presented himself again to his master, who, sadly grieving, handed him a second ducat; and so on till, after six months or so, the wretched father had actually spent the ten of them. And now the well-intentioned Bogdan went through a severe conflict with himself, ending with the renewed conviction that it were an unpardonable want of foresight to let those children be ruined. So having given to Mikita ten ill-spent ducats, he got him to put his mark to a receipt that the full amount of the legacy had been made over to him, and thereupon he went and presented himself as the required heir.
Thus Bogdan, acting for the best for his humble neighbour, had laid the foundation of his fortune. But it is well known that one's noblest actions are often cruelly misjudged, and this matter somehow leaking out, made it impossible for the tenderhearted cattle-trader to continue in the neighbourhood. He resolved to shake off from his feet the very dust of his old life, departing stealthily, and making his way into Austria, where, with his newly-acquired capital, he bought a large property, ostensibly bent on farming his land. The property, however, happened to be situated in the Bukowina, a very central position, where Austria, Russia, and Moldavia join. Now the import duties in those days were particularly heavy, and a man of resources living on the frontiers could not but direct his faculties to studying their results. Mr. Bogdan was too clever not to see that free commerce naturally must spring from an overdone system of protection, and, experimenting upon his theory, he ended in siding with free trade altogether. His property was delightfully situated for smuggling purposes, and he flattered himself he would best serve his generation by introducing large quantities of tobacco from Bessarabia into Austria, to the detriment of the Imperial monopoly, which was disgracefully selfish, he argued. He throve for awhile, but the eyes of the customs authorities were upon him. He escaped conviction just in time, selling his property advantageously and acquiring a larger one in Eastern Galicia.
He was now forty years of age, rich and prosperous, but alone in his glory. His heart, such as it was, longed for a distinguished passion, and his buttonhole gaped for a decoration. He would marry into the aristocracy, and become the founder of a noble house. As for marrying a person of title, that is almost easier in those parts than insisting on the contrary; but on what grounds he could become ennobled, even his fertile brain was at a loss to suggest. Fortune, however, had always smiled on him; and it so happened that the mysterious power which rules our hearts and destinies introduced to him a lady well qualified for becoming the stepping-stone of his aspirations. In the present instance that world-famed power elected to show itself in the person of a certain Jew, who made his living by acting as go-between in the matrimonial market. This herald appeared one day, proposing to Mr. Bogdan a union with a certain aristocratic spinster, Antonia von Kulczika. There was no doubt as to her good birth, but she was notveryyoung, and not rich--possessed of influence, however, through having enjoyed the protection, hitherto, of one of the most powerful magnates of the land. Wicked tongues, of course, delighted in a tale, for which reason Aaron Moses, in stating the lady's virtues, kept his hand cautiously on the door-handle. To his agreeable surprise, however, Mr. Bogdan listened quietly, owning even to a sort of partiality for the lady he had never seen, and that nothing was required but certain easily-defined conditions in order to rouse his ardent love, which conditions being stated, Aaron Moses entered them in his notebook.
Within a month the Jew returned with a deed of gift, whereby the above-mentioned magnate, with brotherly generosity, settled on the lady the landed property of Rossow. Mr. Bogdan, on making sure of this, laid his hand upon his heart, confessing to the Jew his unmistakable devotion to the lady, to whom he was ready now to be introduced. But there was no talk of betrothal as yet. True love mostly is of the shyest, and Mr. Bogdan found no words for his feelings until Aaron Moses had brought him a letter wherein the magnate, under his own hand, had given his word of honour that he would procure a patent of nobility for Mr. Bogdan Antoniewicz within a year of his marriage with Miss Antonia von Kulczika. This settled, there was nothing left to hinder the flow of his feelings, and in due course the nuptials were solemnised.
They were a pattern pair; and if those only can be happy in married life whose mutual love is equalled by their mutual respect, their happiness was assured, for the love of this couple could not easily have been less than the esteem they bore one another. The happy husband in due time found himself HerrvonAntoniewicz, his wife presenting him, moreover, with a fair-haired little girl. There appeared nothing to prevent their being received into society, for the lady was handsome, Bogdan rich and prosperous. The officers of the neighbouring garrison were the first to get over their qualms, the rest of society following suit. As years went on the lady, of course, could not be said to grow in grace or beauty; but Bogdan gained riches steadily, possessing three large estates now and plenty of money, which he continued to put to usury advantageously.
Such were the future parents-in-law of Mr. Hajek. Those who knew them could not but own that all three were worthy of each other, and the same might be said of the bridal couple itself. Bogdan von Antoniewicz had his daughter educated after the style most approved of by the Polish aristocracy. She had a Parisian governess, who taught her French and the piano, the rest of the 'branches' being confided to a refugee from Warsaw, in whose estimation there wad no science equal to Polish patriotism, and in this he instructed her. Wanda should be a true Pole. It was not pleasant, therefore, when her parents one day made a sorrowful discovery, proving her Austrian predilections. She had a lover in the Imperial army, who, on being moved with his regiment, left it expedient for her father to find her a husband. It had better not be a rogue, if a fool was to be had, thought the latter; and a suitable youth was found in the person of one Count Agenor Koninski. Very suitable he was, being, in the first place, of the bluest aristocracy; moreover, in the second place, of such doubtful finances that Bogdan's offer was a godsend to him; and, thirdly, he was an easy-going fellow, whose wife might be what she pleased. "Koninski" might be correctly rendered by "horseman"--it was just the name for him. He spent his life with horses, and even came by his death through them, being thrown on a racecourse.
The widowed Wanda knew what she owed to her position; her sympathies were no longer with the Imperial army, but no Polish nobleman therefore cared for her hand. She and her belongings had thoroughly disgusted even that lenient body; and, at the time when Mr. Hajek was making friends at Colomea, the Armenian, in spite of his great wealth, was reduced to a select circle of visitors--respectable people refused his invitations. He and his wife had reached their threescore and ten, the Countess Wanda was thirty, and her boy eleven years old. It was high time to put an end to the scandal, and gain an able man who could manage the property. This state of things explains why Bogdan, in spite of the pride of his acquired nobility, as well as the widowed Countess herself, had turned their thoughts to the low-born mandatar, instructing their willing emissary, Mr. Thaddeus de Bazanski, accordingly--he being no other than that refugee who, in her youth, had educated Wanda in Polish patriotism, and who still awaited the day when Russia should suffer, glad meanwhile to act as the Armenian's hanger-on. He had to take his time in making overtures to the mandatar, who did not seem open to his hints; but he was able at last to inform the countess that Mr. Hajek had discovered he loved her; and it was agreed to celebrate the betrothal forthwith, even on Easter Sunday.
It had been no easy resolve on the part of the mandatar. To be sure, the widowed Countess possessed three first-rate charms, nay, virtues, in his eyes, being heiress to the broad lands of Rossow, Horkowka, and Drinkowce, and he himself was not a man given to prejudice. Still he had managed somehow to acquire the position of a man of honour in the district, and was loth to part with this pleasant sensation, all the more valued, perhaps, for its novelty. But while he yet felt divided, the news reached him of Taras's declaration, and the cowardly wretch was seized with a perfect frenzy of fear. Indeed, the real match-maker, bringing together this pair of worthies, was not so much Thaddeus as Taras Barabola.
Mr. Hajek had not been in the village, and knew nothing of the great meeting. He had gone to a mess breakfast at Zablotow, Captain Mihaly, of the Palffy hussars, in garrison there, having invited him over. It was a merry gathering, comprising, besides the officers, several young nobles of the neighbourhood. But none so merry as Hajek himself; and he kept up his spirits when, breakfast over, he was invited to preside at the gaming table. He was winning largely, and was a very fountain of fun to the dissipated party. They went on gambling for the best part of the day.
But there was a strange interruption, the captain's man announcing, with a queer expression, that the under-steward, Boleslaw, had arrived, bearing an important message to the mandatar--a certain peasant named Barabola having that day declared war against the Emperor.
The news produced the greatest hilarity; the officers roared with laughter. But Wenceslas Hajek grew deadly pale, and, dropping the cards from his hands, he jumped from his seat shaking from head to foot. "Gentlemen," he gasped, "you would not laugh if you knew the man ... this is a matter of life and death ... excuse me, I must have particulars...."
He moved to the door, but the captain was before him. "No!" he cried, facetiously, "you shall not monopolise this declaration of war.Weare His Majesty's officers, and ought to have our share--let the man enter!"
The under-steward appeared, his gigantic frame positively limp with dismay, as he reported the chief contents of Taras's speech. "You know what sort of man you have to deal with, sir," he said, in conclusion, turning to the mandatar. "This day week he means to make his beginning--make it upon you, sir! He has retired for the present in the direction of the Red Hollow. Four men are with him to-day; there will be fifty before the week is out."
The gentlemen ceased to be amused; somehow the giant's consternation had affected them. But when he had done, their laughter returned. "War!" they cried, "what fun! Double pay and promotion for all of us!" The captain adding: "But he has given us a week's grace, so let us finish our rubber. Mr. Hajek, I think you were meditating a trump ... but, good heavens, man!" he interrupted himself, evidently alarmed, "what is the matter? ... He is fainting!"
And, indeed, the mandatar's appearance was enough to startle his companions. He had sunk down on the nearest chair, the bloodless face distorted with terror; and as they gazed at him his head sank lower, till it rested on the table.
"Belshazzar!" cried a youthful lieutenant, "Mene, Tekel, Upharsin! Yes, yes, my dear Mr. Hajek, your conscience seems ill at ease concerning these peasants! Why, you are crying!"
The mandatar actually had begun to sob. "Ah!" he moaned, "I must be off to the town...." He attempted to rise, but fell back on his chair. "No ... I must go back to the manor first ... my papers.... Captain!" he shrieked, imploringly, "I entreat you, let your troop be mounted, and escort me to Zulawce--I mean, stay with me till you can bring me away again in safety. I'm a dead man, and the manor will be in ruins, if you refuse!"
"Nonsense!" cried the captain, in disgust. "I should not have believed it of you! This sudden news has made a coward of you! Don't you know that I am not at liberty to order my men about in that fashion?"
"Then you shall answer for the consequences!" screamed Hajek, wildly. "But I shall not go home by myself!" And again he sobbed, but recovered himself presently. "I must take refuge at Colomea. We are but three of us--the under-steward, myself, and the coachman, and those cut-throats are four or five! I trust you will, at least, set us up with arms, captain, and lend me some of your men to see us safely on our way."
"Certainly," replied Captain Mihaly, coldly. "I am quite able to grant you an escort."
And within an hour Mr. Hajek was on the road to Colomea, a hussar on either side of his vehicle, the under-steward besides having provided himself with a perfect arsenal of weapons. Nevertheless, the mandatar was dying with fright at every turn, crying aloud with terror as often as a sound rose in the distance or some horseman appeared in view. In vain Boleslaw tried to comfort him; all he could do was to remind him that Taras had said with, his own lips another week would lapse before he should make his beginning, "and you know he always is true to his word!"
The mandatar's answer to this was, perhaps, the finest praise ever awarded to Taras. "Ah!" he groaned, "you may not have heard it correctly"--for that Taras should ever deviate from his word, in great things or little, even he did not doubt; but just this made all the rest so fearful!...
The news had come to him quite unexpectedly, although he had been fully informed concerning Taras's doings, his prolonged visits to the mountains, his growing despair, and lastly his cession of property. But he had misjudged these signs, believing in his own evil soul that Taras intended to make away with himself, and would probably do so upon the Emperor's refusal; indeed, he had even pitied the man, after a fashion, as a butcher may feel pity for a fine bullock whose carcase he intends to sell well. Now that he had learned Taras's intentions, he seemed suddenly to be aware what stuff the man was made of, and though but the barest outline of that memorable speech could have been reported to him, he had a clearer perception of its drift, no doubt, than most of those who had heard it with their own ears. "Yes, yes," he groaned, "the angel has become a fiend, and none so black as those that were all light before!"
At last the morning dawned. The mandatar ventured to dismiss his escort, and towards nine o'clock he reached the town, where he parted also from Boleslaw, sending him back to Zulawce.
"Do you believe the manor is endangered by my absence?"
"No," said the giant, "only by your presence, sir. What Taras wants is to punishyouin life and limb; he does not care for your property, save as far as it may serve to indemnify the people for their supposed loss. But I should say he will not touch anything till he has got hold of yourself."
The mandatar shook. "I daresay you are right," he said. "Nevertheless, I want you to bring me, without delay, the black casket you will find in my bedroom cupboard--this is the key. I shall not leave this place for the present, and shall do my best to have the wretch hanged, else----"
"He will see you hanged," concluded Boleslaw. "I am afraid you are right, sir."
And with this parting benediction ringing in his ears, Mr. Hajek repaired at once to the district governor, to whom he represented the matter as a rebellion of gigantic dimensions, endangering the lives and property of thousands of helpless subjects, if a price were not set on Taras's head forthwith and half a dozen regiments despatched against him.
Herr von Bauer took refuge in his favourite growling. "Pleasant! most pleasant!" he muttered, and took to pacing his office like a caged lion. "Who on earth has to face such bothers but me? Defend your enemy, not to say your friend, from being a district governor in Galicia! I hoped we had done with these cut-throats since 'Wild Wassilj' had the good sense to shoot himself--now there is another of these rascals! But who would have believed it of Taras Barabola! I would have taken my oath that he was an honest man. To be sure, he understands nothing of justice--came to me once expectingweshould prosecute for the recovery of that field. He positively believed it was our duty--to prosecute, you understand! A man who has such notions may as well turn hajdamak! They are just savages here--I have always said so ... not a notion of how the law works!... Well, I am much obliged for your news, sir, but it is not for us to proceed on it. Things must be done in order. Kindly send in your information in writing; it will cost you nothing. Good morning!"
"And may I ask how soon the matter will then be attended to?"
"In due course--first come, first served!"
"Sir! Why this is a most pressing case! I would propose, as a first step, to send for the hussars from Zablotow----"
"Hussars? Good gracious!" and the district governor grew as red as a turkey-cock. "Who do you take me for, sir? Am I a general to order about the military? I am governor of the district, sir--worse luck that I am!"
The mandatar was abashed, but made another attempt. "Sir," he said, rather pathetically, "my life is at stake, and what is more, the property of the Count, my master. I venture to ask how the matter will be dealt with!"
"In due course, to be sure! When your statement has been filed we shall despatch a commissary to Zulawce to report to us; and if it is as you tell me, we have quite a complicated charge of felony: the man has insulted the Emperor, not to say the Almighty Himself; he has libelled Government, and is guilty of seditious proceedings. It will be an interesting case, to be sure; he'll have ten years of penal servitude for that speech alone. And if he should lay hands on you, as he seems fully to intend, we will have him hanged! Will that satisfy you?"
But strange to say, the mandatar was not satisfied. "Sir," he stammered, "delay is most dangerous. Will that commissary be starting to-morrow?"
"To-morrow?" gasped the governor. "Why not, rather, to-day? Perhaps we ought to ask your pardon for not having sent him as early as yesterday!...To-morrow!Are you in your senses, sir?" And he paced his office more violently than ever. It took him some time to get over, this unheard-of suggestion, and then he said: "A commissioner will be sent as soon as feasible; in about a month's time, I should say; things must be done in due course! And now I have the honour of making my bow to you."
The mandatar could but take his leave, standing still a moment outside. It was the very spot where his unhappy victim, and now his implacable enemy, had first felt the sore pain of disappointed hope and helpless wrath--these same sensations now having him for their prey. The fear of death, which he had been able to hold at bay awhile with the vain expectation that the all-powerful State would hedge him round with safety, seized upon him afresh, tearing his cowardly heart to pieces. With tottering knees, and almost beside himself with rage and terror, he slunk away.
In one of the streets his eye was caught by a shop window exhibiting fire-arms. He entered and bought a double-barrelled pistol. "If I should have the misfortune of falling into his hands," he murmured, "I will at least save myself the worst of ignominy." But a voice in his heart gave him the lie directly. "Coward!" it said; "you would never dare it--never!"
Retribution for this man's crimes had begun before Taras lifted a finger against him, and his just terrors continued--nay, were added to hourly. The mandatar, even in his least cowardly moments, felt the situation to be most critical. While Taras lived, his returning to Zulawce was a movement in the direction of death; and there appeared to be every likelihood of Taras's continuing in life, while the authorities were bent on dealing with him "in due course," as the district governor had taken pains to point out. It seemed highly advisable, then, for Mr. Hajek to keep at a safe distance from Zulawce, and this was tantamount to his retiring from his stewardship, since the peasants, he knew, would never dream of rendering the slightest of their dues, be it tribute or labour, unless the mandatar were bodily present to make them. And if he got into arrears with the monthly payments to the Count, in Paris, this gentleman would not be long in dismissing him, without the least pity for his difficulties. It was preferable, then, to anticipate a dismissal. But how to make a living for the future? To be sure, he had improved the stewardship he was about to quit, putting by in that little black box of his a neat sum of several thousand florins in good Austrian securities, although he had never stinted himself of any personal luxury. Should he fall back upon these savings, leaving the country altogether and seeking a berth elsewhere? But in that case, not only this little capital would be endangered, but another and more precious one would also be lost, even the good name he had managed to acquire, and which he hoped to turn into a bait with which to land a fortune one of these days. Nor was this a mere illusion. Mr. Hajek was too sharp-witted to fool himself, and he really had come to enjoy a certain position at Colomea; for he was a man of the world and knew how to ingratiate himself with society, while even his worst enemy must admit he was an adept in the management of landed property. He knew, therefore, to what port he ought to run: he must look out for an heiress and become a landed proprietor himself. There were several eligible maidens, presumably willing to further his aims, with handsome sums in their pockets, if not Polish coronets on their brows. But all these hopes had vanished now; the successful mandatar might have proffered his suit in such quarters, but never the luckless culprit whose misdeeds had found him out. The one question for him was how to gain time, in order to make the best of his miserable fate.
Thus, by a strange coincidence of circumstances, the mere announcement of Taras's intentions had sufficed to ruin his enemy effectively; and the under-steward, returning on Tuesday with the precious black casket, found his master deeply dejected. Nor was his news calculated to rouse better hopes. "To tell the truth," said Boleslaw, "I brought away the worst impressions concerning the peasantry. Not an hour's further labour will they yield, and no tribute of any kind. Taras is a hero and a liberator in their eyes; and as for you, sir--I beg your pardon, but it is a fact--they are all delighted at the bare idea that he is going to hang you. I spoke with several of the villagers, and they all said the same thing."
"That will do," said the mandatar, faintly, and motioned him to go. Left alone, he sank into a chair, and involuntarily put his fingers round his throat. "There must be an end to this!" he cried. "I must shake off this business; I will have nothing more to do with these wretches."
And, going to his desk, he wrote a letter to the Count--it was his resignation. He folded the sheet, and put it into an envelope, which he sealed. But there he stopped, dipping his pen again and again without addressing the missive. "It might be premature after all," he murmured at last, throwing down the quill and snatching up his hat. "I ought not to act rashly, at least not before finding out the opinion of the town."
But if any one wished to know what the world thought at Colomea, he could not do better than repair to a certain wine-cellar, where the "daily news" of the place was almost sure to be present, gossipping away from early morning sometimes till the closing hour at midnight. This worthy was none other than Mr. Thaddeus de Bazanski, whose vicissitudes in life were a prolific source of entertainment to all the tipplers of the place. Mr. Thaddeus, by his own showing, was a man of consequence; but the jovial company listening to his tales somehow had agreed to call him Thaddy. Now Thaddy's history--of which he was most liberal--was of a curious kind, and never the same for two days running. On a Sunday he would have large possessions in Volhynia; and, being the last of an honourable name, he had fought the Russians gallantly, but was left for dead on the field of battle, after which he made his escape into Galicia. On Mondays he was the son of a Polish officer in French service, who had enjoyed the close friendship of Napoleon, and he had been a cadet at Vincennes; but, turning his back upon his brilliant prospects, he had entered the Polish army for love of his country--the rest being the same as on Sunday. On a Tuesday his name, de Bazanski, was merely an alias for prudence' sake, and he was really the scion of a princely house of Lithuania; but, having quarrelled with his family, who were of Russian tendencies, he had entered the Polish army--the rest the same as on Monday. On Wednesdays he had large possessions in the Ukraine, and in fact all the revolution of 1831 had been carried on with his money. Having been obliged to flee, he joined the Carbonari in Piedmont, and now lived in Galicia in order to be at hand when the great day of revenge should have dawned. On Thursdays, when the cellars would be specially well filled after the weekly meeting of the local board, Thaddy's history had quite a romantic origin. He was a natural son of Alexander I. and a Polish countess, spending his youth at the Court of St. Petersburg, petted by all, until he did his duty as the son of his mother, standing up boldly before his half-brother Nicolas and demanding of him a grant of liberty for poor Poland. He was refused, and then--the same as on Wednesday. On Fridays, when the place was but indifferently visited, he was just a poor brave nobleman, who had spent the best years of his life for the good of his country, and was ready to do so again; while on the Saturday his tale had an anti-semitic tinge. His father, on those days, having been one of the richest landowners of Masovia, had been so foolish as to allow his Jewish tenants to drop into arrears with their rents, till the family was nearly beggared. It was then that Thaddeus showed the stuff he was made of, evicting "those rascally Jews," and making front against the Russians at the same time; and he was now at Colomea endeavouring to work up those sad arrears. To be sure, he never had any success to tell of, but that might be because of his constantly changing his lawyer, who, it was observed, was mentioned by a different name every Saturday. For the rest, if any visitor of the cellars ever had forgotten what day of the week it might be, he had but to listen for a moment to Thaddy's tale in order to recover the lost thread of his time.
These varying accounts were calculated to lend an air of distinction to the narrator, but there were some whose shrewdness believed his fame to be spurious, and one or two wicked tongues had even asserted that his features bore a suspicious likeness to a loquacious barber they had known at Warsaw. Thaddy denounced this as a libel, boldly; but it was not so easy to accuse people of calumny when they added that his appearance, somehow, was not of the aristocratic military type! That was true enough, for there was nothing of the heroic about his mean little figure, and those greenish eyes, half cunning, half cowardly, peering away over a coppery nose for any good luck in his way. Of course he always appeared in the national costume; but the 'kantouche' was peculiarly long and ill-fitting, not because of any eccentric taste of his, but simply because nature had endowed Mr. Bogdan with a figure so utterly different from Thaddy's. His 'confederatka,' however, was his own--one of the strangest head-gears ever worn by mortal man. It probably had been high, stiff, and square originally, but it had collapsed to utter flabbiness, and it could not now be said to be of any colour, having faded to a mixture of all. Thaddy kept assuring his listeners that he wore this article on great anniversaries for the most patriotic of reasons, since it had covered his head at the famous battle of Ostrolenka. It certainly looked ancient enough to have seen even the Napoleonic wars; and if it had many holes, that no doubt was a proof of the many bullets which had threatened the head of its gallant wearer. As for the anniversaries, there were those who pretended to observe that the famous confederatka was seen rather often, in fact quite habitually, on Thaddy's head--but then, the history of Poland is so rich in events, that the year of the piously inclined is one long anniversary naturally.
As for the present employment of this national martyr, it was twofold; he ostensibly waited for the better days of Poland, gaining his livelihood meanwhile by entertaining the customers at the cellars with his gossip, and holding himself in readiness for any business in which an agent might be wanted who was not over squeamish in his views.
When Mr. Hajek, on that Tuesday afternoon, entered the cellars he found Thaddy alone, in his usual corner, sadly occupied with counting the flies on the various pictures adorning the room. He looked up, a gleam of satisfaction shooting across his countenance, and held out his hand, which cordiality, however, the new comer appeared not to observe. "Ha!" he cried, "what a strange coincidence; here I was just thinking of you, actually! There is a curious likeness between this excellent young man's fate--meaning yourself--and mine, I was saying."
"Indeed!" replied the mandatar, coldly, taking a seat and ordering a bottle of wine. "Between you and me?"
"Yes, unmistakably," cried Mr. de Bazanski, coming nearer and taking his place opposite the mandatar. "A striking likeness in fact. It so occupied my mind that I quite forgot I was thirsty, and, indeed, for the matter of that, I am of too sociable a turn to have a glass by myself." This was true enough, for Thaddy never had any drink except in company. They knew better at the cellars than to give him anything that was not ordered and paid for by his friends.
Mr. Hajek smiled, requesting the waiter to bring a second glass. "A striking likeness, you were saying?"
"Most striking, sir, and unmistakable! Just look at me--what is it I have come to? I am an old officer, to be sure, who will give proof yet of the stuff he is made of. But what of this? I was thinking of my happy youth, and how from the battlements of our princely castle in Lithuania I, with a telescope, would scan our broad domain; forty-nine villages I could count, and they all were situated on our lands. Yes, ours was a princely family, and now, alas, I may not even confess to the name I was born to, I----"
"Yes, yes, I know," interrupted the mandatar; "besides, I was aware that this is Tuesday."
But Thaddy was not the man to be disconcerted. "Of course, this is Tuesday," he assented, smilingly. "I was going to add--who is to blame that I am a stranger now to my princely heritage, if not my wicked relatives? And who is it that, at the present moment, is a sore trouble to you, if not this wicked peasantry of Zulawce? Is it not a strange and striking similarity?"
"Very striking," said Hajek. "Then you have heard about affairs at Zulawce?"
"Of course I have," cried Bazanski; "why the town is full of it." And the ex-officer waxed hot with excitement. "You would scarcely believe it," he cried, "but there are those, actually, who take this cut-throat's part against you--respectable people--nay, even Poles, I am ashamed to say!"
"Who, for instance?" inquired the mandatar, apparently unconcerned, but his heart was beating in spite of him.
"Well, there is that old demagogue, who ought to know better, being a lawyer--Dr. Starkowski, I mean--to begin with. This very morning we were sitting here, some twenty of us, and some one started the matter. My stars, you should have heard him! 'Gentlemen,' he said, quite solemnly, as though he were on his oath, 'I know this Taras; he is the most unselfish, the noblest man I have ever met, and filled with a passion for justice which would grace a king. And that this man, with the views he holds, had nothing left but to turn hajdamak, must make every honest man blush for our country. It is my opinion that this noble-hearted fellow has been morally murdered, and his murderer is the mandatar of Zulawce.' And the others, so far from contradicting him, clamoured for more. 'Tell us, Doctor, tell us all about it,' they cried. And he gave them a long rigmarole of a story about a field, and perjury, and what not; and when he had finished--'Humph,' said the others, 'why, if it is so, Mr. Hajek is just a blackguard.' 'He is,' affirmed the brazen-faced lawyer. Such is the world!"
"Such--is--- the world!" repeated Hajek, absently, and white as a ghost. It was plain there was nothing left for him now but to make his speedy escape. The laborious edifice of his wickedness was tottering, and threatening to bury him in its ruins. But whither should he turn? He gazed into his future helplessly....
"Such, indeed, is the world," repeated Bazanski, eagerly; "and there were those present who said--'Dear, dear, it is a mercy to learn that before it is too late!' Those, you understand, who hitherto would have considered you an eligible son-in-law--conceited fools!--as if you ever would have looked at any of their daughters--you, whose heart is adamant even to a countess."
Hajek turned to him with a start, his face flushing crimson. He had racked his brain for a way out of his plight, but had forgotten all about this possibility, in his very grasp if he chose! Three different estates in the lowlands, beyond the reach of Taras--what a splendid match to be sure! If he married the countess he need not give another thought to his master in Paris, nor to that wretch of an "avenger," nor yet to all the respectable folk at Colomea. And this grandest of chances had almost escaped him!
"Well," cried the wily Thaddeus, "I do like your pretending to be taken by surprise; as if you did not know how desperately the amiable Countess Wanda is in love with you." And he began to describe the secret passion of that lady with such glowing colours, that any writer of love sonnets might have envied him. "And there is her great fortune besides," he said, in conclusion; "but that is a mere accessory. First love, and then the practical advantages."
Mr. Hajek had recovered himself. "Don't talk rubbish," he said, sharply. "The countess is not likely to love me, being too--too experienced to make a fool of herself; and, besides, I am an utter stranger to her. If she intends to marry me it is simply because she is in want of a husband, and if I take her it will be because it happens to suit me. So it is a clear case of the practical advantage first and foremost; that settled, there may be love, for all I care. What about the property and the settlement? I daresay you have been instructed.... I don't want any flourishes; just let me know the facts."
Thaddeus de Bazanski was of an adaptable nature. "Just the facts! Yes, certainly," he said. "There are three estates, as you know--Horkowka, Drinkowce, and Rossow--quite unencumbered--will fetch in the market half a million florins any day; the personal property, besides, amounting to one hundred thousand florins in first-rate securities."
"Very well; and now for the conditions."
"The Rossow estate, on your marriage, will be settled on the countess, of course, but you will have equal rights to the revenues for your life; Horkowka, in reversion, on the countess alone; while Drinkowce and the floating capital will be settled on--on---" Bazanski stammered and blushed.
"On the lady's child by her first marriage--I understand," said Hajek quietly. "But now for my conditions! I am quite agreed concerning Rossow and Horkowka; but the boy has to be provided for out of the personal property solely, while Drinkowce must be settled on me absolutely. It shall be mine, whether there be any offspring of the marriage or not; and it is to remain mine even in the event of a dissolution."
"Humph! old Bogdan is no fool!"
"Quite sure of that; but neither am I! When shall I look for an answer?"
"To-morrow at noon. Shall we have another bottle now on the strength of the prospects?"
"No, not now; go and make sure of the prospects. Good evening to you."
Bazanski gazed after the retreating figure with positive awe. "Ugh!" he said at length, with a deep breath of admiration, "they were not far wrong this morning. What a villain! what an incomparable villain!" And, having thus unburdened his mind, he hastened away to the Villa Antoniewicz....
At noon punctually the following day he presented himself again to Mr. Hajek. "I have come to congratulate you!" he cried on the threshold.
"Well, has your patron accepted my conditions?"
"Entirely--excepting only Drinkowce. He is very sorry, but his little grandson----"
"Very well, that settles it. Excuse me, but I am busy, intending to start to-night."
"Start! whereto?"
"To--anywhere, so long as it is far enough from here."
"Then do not be in such a hurry! Let me have another word with the family."
"Very well. I will give you till to-morrow, but I cannot be detained beyond that."
Thaddy departed on his errand sadly, there was little hope of earning his pay. He was almost certain that Herr von Antoniewicz would prove unyielding; but it turned out differently. The Countess, in the first place, chose to pronounce in the intended bridegroom's favour. "He is good-looking; tolerably young, of good manners, and sufficiently a man of the world not to annoy me with any prejudice!" Her father arrived at a similar conclusion. "The fellow is of suitable stuff to manage the estates; whether Drinkowce be his or not, it will be his interest to pull along with us. I am old now, and cannot wait till as great a booby as your first husband may chance to turn up as a suitor for your hand. I would prefer an honest booby, of course; but a clever villain meanwhile must not be despised. He shall not dome. I'll take care of that!"
And the following morning, Thaddeus, with a beaming face, burst into the mandatar's presence. "Now I may congratulate you really," he cried. "Drinkowce is yours!"
"Very well," responded Hajek. "I am off on the spot to pay my respects to my future father-in-law, and to my bride-elect. One thing, though, before I leave, you will hold your tongue for the present. I might find it useful to be believed in as a man of honour by some of the folk here yet awhile!"
"What a delightful joke!" cried Thaddy, full of laughter, and brandishing the famous confederatka as he made his bow. But when the door had closed upon him, an expression of admiring awe once more settled on his features. "What a villain!" he murmured, "what an incomparable villain!"
Mr. Hajek's visit at the villa proved highly touching; that supreme moment especially, when, in his capacity of accepted lover, he imprinted a delicate kiss on the fair one's brow, a proceeding at which Herr and Frau von Antoniewicz tossed their handkerchiefs before their tearless eyes, whimpering affectedly, "Be happy, children; as happy as we ourselves have been!"
When the mandatar returned to his chambers he found on his table a note from the district governor. "Favour me with a call at my private residence at once," it said; "I have a communication of importance to make to you." Hajek was surprised, and slightly fluttered. The die was cast, his future secured, and if he stayed prudently at Colomea he had scarcely anything to fear from Taras. And yet he trembled. What if Taras had been caught, and he had sacrificed himself in vain--allowing a lady of the countess's antecedents to address him as her promised husband? Well, never mind, it was impossible to go back now, considering the manner of his courting. He had cast in his lot with these creatures and must abide by it.
With a sense of expectation he went his way to the governor's. Herr von Bauer received him politely. He was one of those officials, rather numerous at that time, who considered abruptness a sort of armour to be worn during office hours, but not required when off duty. The district governor was quite genial within the precincts of his own fireside, and all the more courteous now for remembering that he had put forth some special bristles along with that armour in his previous interview with the mandatar. "A pleasure to see you," he assured Mr. Hajek, shaking hands vigorously. "I have some important news which will please you," he said, winking mysteriously--"please you particularly."
"Has Taras been caught?" inquired the mandatar.
"Caught? Dear me, no! Why, who should have caught him? ... This is what I wanted to tell you: You know the court sat to-day. We had an unusual influx of landed proprietors and mandatars, and there was much talking concerning Taras; in fact he seems the one topic all over the country. They all agreed that his rising was most dangerous, because the peasantry everywhere are devoted to him. There could be no doubt, they assured me, but that the manor house at Zulawce would be attacked on Sunday, and if he got hold of you, your life was not worth two straws--not two straws, they said!"
"Well," said the mandatar, with affected composure, "this may be important to know, but I fail to see why it should please me."
"No, no, of course, the pleasant part is coming--for yourself I mean, not for me. I hate having things done in an irregular way. But I suppose this is an exception." A groan escaped him. "Well, sir, I called a meeting of the board--a special meeting, and it was resolved to treat the case as a matter of unusual importance, attending to it, therefore, on the spot--an example of despatch quite unprecedented in my experience, I assure you. A commissioner will be sent to Zulawce as early as next Tuesday--we must, if possible, have an exact report of that speech--and a courier went off this very afternoon to inform the brigadier-general at Stanislaw of the state of affairs, submitting to him the necessity of ordering a company of infantry to Zulawce. This I am sure----"
"Is pleasant to know! so it is," interrupted the mandatar. "But might I suggest----"
"Yes, certainly; suggest away, sir," said the governor, waxing impatient. There had been a sound of teacups from the adjoining apartment.
"It appears to be a general conviction that the manor house at Zulawce is to be attacked on the night of Easter Sunday. In that case the military, in order to be of any use should arrive at the place on Sunday afternoon. But this is scarcely possible if it be infantry. This is Thursday. The courier, at the earliest, will reach Stanislaw at daybreak to-morrow. Now, supposing even the general attended to the matter at once, and made out his order to the soldiers by ten----"
"Or a quarter past," interrupted the governor, rushing into his office armour evidently. "What are you driving at, sir?"
"You will see presently," retorted the mandatar, nettled in his turn. "Supposing the general made out his order to the nearest regiment of infantry by ten o'clock, a detachment could not be off under four-and-twenty hours, for they are quartered at Czortkow, and it will be a two days' march for them to reach their destination--by Monday morning at the earliest, that is. So, you see, the village could only be protected against Sunday by means of the Palffy hussars, who are at Zablotow, close at hand."
"Sir," growled the governor, "are you fooling me? Am I the brigadier-general? I am governor of this district, and my business is to apply for military intervention if need be, but not to ask for cavalry or artillery when there are no means of stabling the horses. There are no large stables at Zulawce, so it must be infantry. They shall be there when they can; or do you expect us to introduce new regulations into the country just to suityourneed? What do you mean by directing my attention to the distance, or to the length of time a detachment will be on the march? Am I supposed to know that? Am I in the general's coat to give his orders?"
"No--in your own smoking cap and slippers," replied the mandatar quietly, the words acting like magic. The old growler suddenly remembered that he was not in his office, but at home, where civility was due to a caller. And he put off his armour hastily.
"Well--a case of unusual importance, I was saying...." The poor old gentleman felt guilty, however, and was anxious to make reparation. "It is a trouble altogether--this Taras--but I was going to add, I have invited some of our people to dine with us on Sunday, and if you will do me the honour, we shall be charmed, sir."
He held out his hand to Mr. Hajek who put his fingers into it eagerly. An invitation to the district governor's annual dinner when all the elite of the place was assembled would have flattered him at any time; but to a man who had just become engaged to a lady of the Countess Wanda's reputation this was simply invaluable....
"So far he has not heard of it, evidently," the bridegroom elect said to himself as he descended the stairs. "I daresay it will be no secret by Sunday, and it will be as well for me to be seen then at the governor's dinner! However, I need not care now for anybody's opinion, any more than I need for Taras himself. It was foolish of me to excite myself at all about the military movements. What does it matter to me whether the Count's manor house be burnt or not, so long as myself and my cash-box are safe out of it?"
He was still pursuing this high-minded strain of thought, when, at the end of the street, he came into collision with a figure rushing round the corner in the opposite direction. But he saw at a glance that apologies were needless, for it was only Thaddy whom he had sent flying against the wall.
"Oh, to be sure," cried the latter, rubbing his shoulder, "what eagerness in a lover! Romeo going to visit Juliet, I'll be bound."
"Oh no, I am going home; but you, I daresay, are making for the cellars?"
"Alas! I am not in the vein. I was lost in meditation, remembering a certain conversation I once had with my illustrious half-brother, Nicolas I., and how my life since----"
"Nicolas I.! You don't mean to say that this is Thursday? I really was forgetting.... But let me tell you, if youdogo to the cellars and should not find any of your friends in the mood to treat you to a glass of Moldavian for your story about Nicolas, I'll not have you try your luck by publishing my engagement with the countess! If you breathe a word of it, I shall deduct fifty florins from your expected pay. Just bear that in mind. Good morning!"
The Czar's half-brother stood stock still, overtaken by an evident conflict. For Bogdan had just told him, "If by this time to-morrow the whole town is not aware of the engagement, I'll have you kicked downstairs when next you show your face here." A sore dilemma for the nobly-born Thaddy--to be kicked downstairs or forego fifty of his hard-earned florins! He would have submitted to the kicking willingly, so long as it left him at liberty to remount those stairs after the performance....
In a distracted state of mind, Thaddy entered the cellars, but the company there was in good humour, greeting him uproariously. "Good heavens," they cried, "are we to stand treat for hearing your romances about Nicolas--this is Thursday!" He could not, of course, submit to this taunt, and resolved, therefore, for once to keep to realities, giving them an account of the mandatar's latest achievement, the plain truth of it, with some exceedingly daring interpolations. But when he added: "This Mr. Hajek is a villain ingrained, sirs!" there was not one to dissent from the statement.
Towards noon the following day the mandatar set out to repeat his call at the villa, saying to himself as he crossed his threshold: "I shall know within ten minutes whether Thaddy has kept the matter close or not." And he did know before he had gone the length of the street! The secretary of the local board, Mr. Wroblewski, was the first acquaintance he met; but this gentleman appeared to have made a sudden discovery upon the roof of the town hall, which required his intentest gaze in that direction, whilst the chief postmaster, Nossek, another of his acquaintances coming along, was lost in a contemplation of the paving-stones, quite overlooking the mandatar in consequence. This was a cut to the heart; but Hajek recovered himself very soon, holding his head erect and stepping out courageously. "Once settled at Drinkowce," he consoled himself, "these things will show in a different light."
He was met in the Armenian's ante-chamber by the chosen bride herself; she walked slowly, not for sweet modesty's sake, but only because she was rather fat. That was a drawback to her charms; for the rest she had sparkling eyes and a rare wig of golden hair, slightly reddish though. She was in her ripest prime, like a cabbage-rose in September, when the perfume of spring has fled and the petals have expanded, the season of sweetness being gone.
He kissed her hands, she offered him her face. "Come," she whispered, "my parents await you, to settle the programme for Sunday."
They were soon agreed that since the engagement was certain not to remain a secret even till then, it behoved them to act a little drama of innocence before the eyes of their guests. "We shall not ask many people; just a select few," said Frau von Antoniewicz, Mr. Hajek agreeing to this fervently, well knowing that not a dozen visitors would be found forthcoming, if pressed ever so hard.
"And now the programme for the evening," resumed the lady--"a select few; we shall talk and have some music, but no dancing. When the clock strikes ten my daughter will take her place by the piano to give us an air of Cherubini's, after which you move up to her, complimenting her on her exquisite voice; and, giving her your arm, you will lead her into the smaller drawing-room, where the illumination will be appropriately subdued. I shall have some things up from the conservatory--palms and things, to represent a bower; a fauteuil will be placed conveniently, and a low stool beside it. Wanda will sink gracefully into the fauteuil; you will be at her feet on the stool--it will be quite a picture, and there will be a whispering among the company. This will be the moment when you must kneel, gazing at her adoringly; she will start up, endeavouring to escape.--It will be pretty if you can manage a blush, my dear; it is easy, you know, if you hold your breath.--I shall be crossing the room accidentally, and shall give a startled cry; whereupon you will take my daughter by the hand, leading her up to me, saying, 'Best of mothers, give us your blessing,' or some such suitable words. I shall be greatly touched, and shall say something appropriate. So will Bogdan. Then we shall have supper; a few toasts will have to be managed: long life to the lovers, and you must reply, lifting your glass to Bogdan and me."
"And then the curtain will fall," said Hajek, at which the wrinkled dame lifted her finger saucily. "My dear Mr. Hajek," she said, "the whole of life is but a comedy; who thinks differently is a fool. Then why should I not arrange this little scene before the closing act of my own life as merrily as I please, and you just be satisfied!"
"Certainly," he said; "but I will stipulate for a comfortable hassock to kneel upon."
They laughed and went to the dining-room....
Considering how he was being cut by every one in the streets, the mandatar would not have been in the least surprised to receive some excuse from the district governor cancelling the invitation to his dinner. But no message came, for the simple reason that Herr von Bauer had quite forgotten he had asked the mandatar, and had not even told his wife. The governor, therefore, was disagreeably surprised when, at the appointed hour, Mr. Hajek presented himself among his guests, while the 'district governess'--as his wife, on account of her overbearing ways, was often called by her jocose acquaintances--flared up crimson with annoyance. It seemed to her as if the eyes of all present were filled with angry reproaches. The fact was, the mandatar had arrived at the very moment when the company was enjoying the newest bit of scandal, having learned by this time how he and the Countess Wanda, with the help of Thaddy, had discovered their secret flame. It was an awkward interruption; not the least so for Hajek himself. But he was the only one who showed any presence of mind. He made his bow to the company, some staring back at him utterly surprised, some completely disgusted; and having kissed the unwilling hand of the lady of the house, he seized the paralysed fingers of her lord, shaking hands with a fine pretence of unconcern. Herr von Bauer, of course, submitted, greeting him with a smile even--"a smile, upon my word," said the witty Wroblewski, "like that of a convict being tickled." The governor was endeavouring to do his duty. "Ah," he said, "I am surprised.... ahem, delighted to see you.... very.... ah!"
And then he recovered himself, perceiving that he owed it to his wife to take upon himself the onus of this man's presence, and that he could not expect any of his guests to entertain him. "Dearest Cornelia," he was heard to say, "I am sure it slipped my memory, but I invited Mr. Hajek--I asked him on Thursday--onThursday, you know," he added, pointedly, "and I am afraid I am going to monopolise him on account of important business"--the mandatar keeping up his most amiable smile.
He drew him into a corner. "I have heard this morning from the brigadier-general by special messenger. A detachment of infantry has been despatched to Zulawce, and will arrive there on Monday as you calculated. But the general, besides this, has thought well to order the hussars to be there by this evening, just as you proposed. He thinks it is as well to be on the safe side."
"Very commendable prudence, no doubt, since Taras seems determined----"
"Determined? What is that to us! Who ever heard of cavalry being ordered to a place where they find no stabling! It is no joke to disregard established rules--none whatever! But I wash my hands of any consequences--I do, indeed!"
"And may I ask who will be sent on Tuesday, as you said, as your commissioner?"
"Kapronski. Well! what is that grimace for? We do things in proper order. He conducted the inquiry there on the former occasion, he may therefore be expected to be the man for it now. But--a happy thought!--I am sure you could give him a hint or two."
The governor rubbed his hands; it seemed a bright idea to set the two least welcome of his guests at each other, thus rendering them harmless for the rest of the company. And he gave a sign to Kapronski, who obeyed with alacrity; for if it was an honour to be invited to the governor's official dinner, it had, so far, not yielded him any pleasure. The company was apt to overlook him, and people would appear to labour under deafness when he addressed them. But being called upon to enter into conversation with Mr. Hajek was like being lifted on to a pedestal; for certainly this man stood lower now in the public estimation than even Kapronski himself. So he approached him accordingly, drawing up his fawning figure and assuming an expression of patronage ludicrous to behold.
"You have a favour to ask of me?" he began pompously.
The mandatar gave him a look of cutting sarcasm. "You are mistaken, sir!"
"I--I misunderstood--a request to make?" Kapronski could not stand being looked at boldly, and was slipping down from his pedestal rapidly.
"Nor yet a request, that I am aware," returned Hajek. "The governor asked my opinion, or any advice I could give, concerning the personal safety of the commissioner about to be despatched to Zulawce, and I am ready to advise you." The mandatar had some trouble in keeping serious, for Kapronski's features, besides recovering their wonted humility at a stroke as it were, presented a ludicrous picture of most doleful dismay.
"Personal safety," lie stammered, "why, is there any danger?"
"A great deal," said Hajek, confidently.
Kapronski's face turned white, and red, and ashy grey. "I shall have an escort," he faltered; "but if Taras should attack us on the road, I am a dead man! There is no help----"
His voice positively failed him.
"None whatever," assented the mandatar. "Stop--yes, there is," he added, a sudden thought having flashed through him--indeed a capital thought, so simple and so clever withal that he was surprised it should not have presented itself before. "There is!" he said.
"Is there?" returned Kapronski, eagerly.
"Yes, indeed! a sure means of saving yourself and me, and all honest folks from this cut-throat. Let me remind you that his wife and children are still at his farm. It will be natural, then, to billet most of the soldiers upon her. But this is not enough! You must tell her that she will have to answer for it on the gallows if her husband hurts a hair of the mandatar's head--be sure and say the mandatar's! She is in communication with him, no doubt, and----"
"But this would be illegal!"
"Well, that is for you to judge. I only give you a hint or two, out of kindness. It is you who have to go to Zulawce, not I!"
"Ah!" groaned Kapronski, "if it should get known, it would cost me my place."
"Well, tell her without witnesses, then you can give her the lie, if need be. For the rest do as you please--Iam safe enough here."
The conversation was interrupted! the governor inviting his guests to move to the dining-room. "I have thought," he said, addressing the pair, "it might be most agreeable for each of you if we put you together."
Kapronski bowed more humbly than ever, Hajek smiling blandly. He had made up his mind to let everybody feel mortified, but not himself--he was not going to be annoyed, not he! And he carried out his resolution; easier for him, no doubt, than for a man of higher mettle.
He drove home in the best of humours, and how he whiled away the rest of his time, attuning his mind for the events of the evening, we have had a glimpse of already. We need not describe the solemnities at the villa, touching as they were, for we know the programme, which was minutely followed. There were not many to witness the scene; but the old dame had set her heart on the play-acting, and the mandatar, to please her, fell in with her fancy. The manner of his kneeling to Wanda was quite classical, and supper was consumed amid charming hilarity, not forgetting some wonderful verses with which Thaddy astonished the company.
But when the guests had departed, a final and real surprise was in store for the happy bridegroom. He was cooling his brow at the open window, when suddenly he perceived his coachman, Jasko, in conversation with a horseman a little way up the road. He could see that the stranger wore the Huzul garb. The night was dark, and a faint gleam only from the lighted house fell on the road, but Hajek nevertheless recognised the horseman. "Good heavens!" he shrieked, "stop him! Seize him!"
Bogdan and the countess rushed up terrified; but the stranger also had heard the alarm, and spurring his horse, he dashed away and was lost to sight.
"My coachman! I entreat you send for my coachman!" cried Hajek, beside himself. Jasko was called in. "That was Wassilj Soklewicz you were talking with just now?" said the mandatar, quaking.
"Yes, sir," replied the man, wonderingly.
"Don't you know he is one of the outlaws--one of Taras's band?"
"Mercy on us!" cried the coachman, aghast. "He assured me he had taken service with the mandatar at Prinkowce, and I believed him, telling him all about ourselves on Tuesday and Thursday and this evening. I told him: 'We need not fear Taras now, for we are going to marry a rich lady, and shall live at Drinkowce. In the meantime, we are quite safe at Colomea.' At which he laughed, telling me there was no saying what might happen between now and the wedding; indeed soon----"
"Soon! soon!" groaned the mandatar, falling back on a chair. It chanced to be the fauteuil near the palms and things. The comedy was being changed into tragedy.
Bogdan recovered himself first. "I do not believe," he said, "that Taras is in the neighbourhood and likely to attack you in your chambers or on your way back to the town; but we will hold ourselves prepared for the worst. Stay here for the night. I'll have the gates closed, my men can be armed, and I will send for assistance to the main guardhouse."
And so he did, but the protection he was able to hold out to his worthy son-in-law proved of the poorest nevertheless. The officer on duty sent back orders not to trouble him with idle tales; and, concerning his own servants, Bogdan knew that they would throw down their arms at the first sight of danger.
"If Taras indeed were to come,Icannot protect you," he confessed to the mandatar. "We are not without neighbours, but none of them would stir to help us."
And with this agreeable assurance they kept watching through the night.