The Deluge. Vol. 2

"Bad, revered father! Our wall will not hold out beyond a day."

"Perhaps these fogs will prevent them from firing," answered Kordetski; "and we meanwhile will repair the rents somehow."

"The fogs will not prevent the Swedes, for that gun once aimed may continue even in darkness the work of destruction; but here the ruins are falling and falling."

"In God and in the Most Holy Lady is our hope."

"True! But if we make a sortie? Even were we to lose men, if they could only spike that dragon of hell."

Just then some form looked dark in the fog, and Babinich appeared near the speakers.

"I saw that some one was speaking; but faces cannot be distinguished three yards away," said he. "Good evening, revered father! But of what is the conversation?"

"We are talking of that gun. Pan Charnyetski advises a sortie. These fogs are spread by Satan; I have commanded an exorcism."

"Dear father," said Pan Andrei, "since that gun has begun to shake the wall, I am thinking of it, and something keeps coming to my head. A sortie is of no use. But let us go to some room; there I will tell you my plans."

"Well," said the prior, "come to my cell."

Soon after they were sitting at a pine table in Kordetski's modest cell. Charnyetski and the priest were looking carefully into the youthful face of Babinich, who said, —

"A sortie is of no use in this case. They will see it and repulse it. Here one man must do the work."

"How is that?" asked Charnyetski.

"One man must go and burst that cannon with powder; and he can do it during such fogs. It is best that he go in disguise. There are jackets here like those worn by the enemy. As it will not be possible to do otherwise, he will slip in among the Swedes; but if at this side of the trench from which the gun is projecting there are no soldiers, that will be better still."

"For God's sake! what will the man do?"

"It is only necessary to put a box of powder into the mouth of the gun, with a hanging fuse and a thread to be ignited. When the powder explodes, the gun – devil I wanted to say – will burst."

"Oh, my son! what do you say? Is it little powder that they thrust into it every day, and it does not burst?"

Kmita laughed, and kissed the priest on the sleeve of his habit. "Beloved father, there is a great heart in you, heroic and holy – "

"Give peace now!" answered the prior.

"And holy," repeated Kmita; "but you do not understand cannon. It is one thing when powder bursts in the butt of the cannon, for then it casts forth the ball and the force flies out forward, but another if you stop the mouth of a gun with powder and ignite it, – no cannon can stand such a trial. Ask Pan Charnyetski. The same thing will take place if you fill the mouth of a cannon with snow and fire it; the piece will burst. Such is the villanous power of powder. What will it be when a whole box of it explodes at the mouth? Ask Pan Charnyetski."

"That is true. These are no secrets for soldiers," answered Charnyetski.

"You see if this gun is burst," continued Kmita, "all the rest are a joke."

"This seems impossible to me," said Kordetski; "for, first, who will undertake to do it?"

"A certain poor fellow," said Kmita; "but he is resolute, his name is Babinich."

"You!" cried the priest and Charnyetski together.

"Ai, father, benefactor! I was with you at confession, and acknowledged all my deeds in sincerity; among them were deeds not worse than the one I am now planning; how can you doubt that I will undertake it? Do you not know me?"

"He is a hero, a knight above knights," cried Charnyetski. And seizing Kmita by the neck, he continued: "Let me kiss you for the wish alone; give me your mouth."

"Show me another remedy, and I will not go," said Kmita; "but it seems to me that I shall manage this matter somehow. Remember that I speak German as if I had been dealing in staves, wainscots, and wall plank in Dantzig. That means much, for if I am disguised they will not easily discover that I am not of their camp. But I think that no one is standing before the mouth of the cannon; for it is not safe there, and I think that I shall do the work before they can see me."

"Pan Charnyetski, what do you think of this?" asked the prior, quickly.

"Out of one hundred men one might return from such an undertaking; but audaces fortuna juvat [fortune favors the bold]."

"I have been in hotter places than this," said Kmita: "nothing will happen to me, for such is my fortune. Ai, beloved father, and what a difference! Ere now to exhibit myself, and for vainglory, I crawled into danger; but this undertaking is for the Most Holy Lady. Even should I have to lay down my head, which I do not foresee, say yourself could a more praiseworthy death be wished to any man than down there in this cause?"

The priest was long silent, and then said at last, —

"I should try to restrain you with persuasion, with prayers and imploring, if you wished to go for mere glory; but you are right: this is a question affecting the honor of the Most Holy Lady, this sacred place, the whole country! And you, my son, whether you return safely or win the palm of glory, you will gain the supreme happiness, – salvation. Against my heart then I say, Go; I do not detain you. Our prayers, the protection of God, will go with you."

"In such company I shall go boldly and perish with joy."

"But return, soldier of God, return safely; for you are loved with sincerity here. May Saint Raphael attend you and bring you back, cherished son, my dear child!"

"Then I will begin preparations at once," said Pan Andrei, joyfully pressing the priest. "I will dress in Swedish fashion with a jacket and wide-legged boots. I will fill in the powder, and do you, father, stop the exorcisms for this night; fog is needful to the Swedes, but also to me."

"And do you not wish to confess before starting?"

"Of course, without that I should not go; for the devil would have approach to me."

"Then begin with confession."

Charnyetski went out of the cell, and Kmita knell down near the priest and purged himself of his sins. Then, gladsome as a bird, he began to make preparations.

An hour or two later, in the deep night, he knocked again at the prior's cell, where Pan Charnyetski also was waiting.

The two scarcely knew Pan Andrei, so good a Swede had he made himself. He had twirled his mustaches to his eyes and brushed them out at the ends; he had put his hat on one side of his head, and looked precisely like some cavalry officer of noted family.

"As God lives, one would draw a sabre at sight of him," said Charnyetski.

"Put the light at a distance," said Kmita; "I will show you something."

When Father Kordetski had put the light aside quickly, Pan Andrei placed on a table a roll, a foot and a half long and as thick as the arm of a sturdy man, sewn up in pitched linen and filled firmly with powder. From one end of it was hanging a long string made of tow steeped in sulphur.

"Well," said he, "when I put this flea-bane in the mouth of the cannon and ignite the string, then its belly will burst."

"Lucifer would burst!" cried Pan Charnyetski. But he remembered that it was better not to mention the name of the foul one, and he slapped his own mouth.

"But how will you set fire to the string?" asked Kordetski.

"In that lies the whole danger, for I must strike fire. I have good flint, dry tinder, and steel of the best; but there will be a noise, and they may notice something. The string I hope will not quench, for it will hang at the beard of the gun, and it will be hard to see it, especially as it will hide itself quickly in burning; but they may pursue me, and I cannot flee straight toward the cloister."

"Why not?" asked the priest.

"For the explosion would kill me. The moment I see the spark on the string I must jump aside with all the strength in my legs, and when I have run about fifty yards, must fall to the ground under the intrenchment. After the explosion I shall rush toward the cloister."

"My God, my God, how many dangers!" said the prior, raising his eyes to heaven.

"Beloved father, so sure am I of returning that even emotion does not touch me, which on an occasion like this ought to seize me. This is nothing! Farewell, and pray the Lord God to give me luck. Only conduct me to the gate."

"How is that? Do you want to go now?" asked Charnyetski.

"Am I to wait till daylight, or till the fog rises? Is not my head dear to me?"

But Pan Andrei did not go that night, for just as they came to the gate, darkness, as if out of spite, began to grow light. Some movement too was heard around the great siege gun.

Next morning the besieged were convinced that the gun was transferred to another place.

The Swedes had received apparently some report of a great weakness in the wall a little beyond the bend near the southern bastion, and they determined to direct missiles to that spot. Maybe too the prior was not a stranger to the affair, for the day before they had seen old Kostuha (Konstantsia) going out of the cloister. She was employed chiefly when there was need of giving false reports to the Swedes. Be that as it may, it was a mistake on their part; for the besieged could now repair in the old place the wall so greatly shaken, and to make a new breach a number of days would be needed.

The nights were clear in succession, the days full of uproar. The Swedes fired with terrible energy. The spirit of doubt began again to fly over the fortress. Among the besieged were nobles who wished to surrender; some of the monks too had lost heart. The opposition gained strength and importance. The prior made head against it with unrestrained energy, but his health began to give way. Meanwhile came reinforcements to the Swedes and supplies from Cracow, especially terrible explosive missiles in the form of iron cylinders filled with powder and lead. These caused more terror than damage to the besieged.

Kmita, from the time that he had conceived the plan of bursting the siege gun, secreted himself in the fortress. He looked every day at the roll, with heart-sickness. On reflection he made it still larger, so that it was almost an ell long and as thick as a boot-leg. In the evening he cast greedy looks toward the gun, then examined the sky like an astrologer. But the bright moon, shining on the snow continually, baffled his plan.

All at once a thaw came; clouds covered the horizon, and the night was dark, – so dark that even strain your eyes you could see nothing. Pan Andrei fell into such humor as if some one had given him the steed of the Sultan; and midnight had barely sounded when he stood before Charnyetski in his cavalry dress, the roll under his arm.

"I am going!" said he.

"Wait, I will speak to the prior."

"That is well. Kiss me. Pan Pyotr, and go for the prior."

Charnyetski kissed him with feeling, and turned away. He had hardly gone thirty steps when Kordetski stood before him in white. He had guessed that Kmita was going, and had come there to bless him.

"Babinich is ready; he is only waiting for your reverence."

"I hurry, I hurry!" answered the priest. "O Mother of God, save him and aid him!"

After a while both were standing at the opening where Charnyetski left Kmita, but there was no trace of him.

"He has gone!" said the prior, in amazement.

"He has gone!" repeated Charnyetski.

"But, the traitor!" said the prior, with emotion, "I intended to put this little scapular on his neck."

Both ceased to speak; there was silence around, and as the darkness was dense there was firing from neither side. On a sudden Charnyetski whispered eagerly, —

"As God is dear to me, he is not even trying to go in silence! Do you hear steps crushing the snow?"

"Most Holy Lady, guard thy servant!" said the prior.

Both listened carefully for a time, till the brisk steps and the noise on the snow had ceased.

"Do you know, your reverence, at moments I think that he will succeed, and I fear nothing for him. The strange man went as if he were going to an inn to drink a glass of liquor. What courage he has in him! Either he will lay down his head untimely, or he will be hetman. H'm! if I did not know him as a servant of Mary, I should think that he has – God give him success, God grant it to him! for such another cavalier there is not in the Commonwealth."

"It is so dark, so dark!" said Kordetski; "but they are on their guard since the night of your sortie. He might come upon a whole rank before he could see it."

"I do not think so. The infantry are watching, that I know, and watch carefully; but they are in the intrenchment, not before the muzzles of their own cannon. If they do not hear the steps, he can easily push under the intrenchment, and then the height of it alone will cover him – Uf!"

Here Charnyetski puffed and ceased speaking; for his heart began to beat like a hammer from expectation and alarm, and breath failed him.

Kordetski made the sign of the cross in the darkness.

A third person stood near the two. This was Zamoyski.

"What is the matter?" asked he.

"Babinich has gone to blow up the siege gun."

"How is that? What is that?"

"He took a roll of powder, cord, and flint, and went."

Zamoyski pressed his head between his hands.

"Jesus, Mary! Jesus, Mary! All alone?"

"All alone."

"Who let him go? That's an impossible deed!"

"I. For the might of God all things are possible, even his safe return," said Kordetski.

Zamoyski was silent. Charnyetski began to pant from emotion.

"Let us pray," said the prior.

The three knelt down and began to pray. But anxiety raised the hair on the heads of both knights. A quarter of an hour passed, half an hour, an hour as long as a lifetime.

"There will be nothing now!" said Charnyetski, sighing deeply.

All at once in the distance a gigantic column of flame burst forth, and a roar as if all the thunders of heaven had been hurled to the earth; it shook the walls, the church, and the cloister.

"He has burst it, he has burst it!" shouted Charnyetski.

New explosions interrupted further speech of his.

Kordetski threw himself on his knees, and raising his hands, cried to heaven, "Most Holy Mother, Guardian, Patroness, bring him back safely!"

A noise was made on the walls. The garrison, not knowing what had happened, seized their arms. The monks rushed from their cells. No one was sleeping. Even women sprang forth. Questions and answers crossed one another like lightnings.

"What has happened?"

"An assault!"

"The Swedish gun has burst!" cried one of the cannoneers.

"A miracle, a miracle!"

"The largest gun is burst!"

"That great one!"

"Where is the prior?"

"On the wall. He is praying; he did this."

"Babinich burst the gun!" cried Charnyetski.

"Babinich, Babinich! Praise to the Most Holy Lady! They will harm us no longer."

At the same time sounds of confusion rose from the Swedish camp. In all the trenches fires began to shine. An increasing uproar was heard. By the light of the fires masses of soldiers were seen moving in various directions without order, trumpets sounded, drums rolled continually; to the walls came shouts in which alarm and amazement were heard.

Kordetski continued kneeling on the wall.

At last the night began to grow pale, but Babinich came not to the fortress.

CHAPTER IV

What had happened to Pan Andrei, and in what way had he been able to carry out his plan?

After leaving the fortress he advanced some time with a sure and wary step. At the very end of the slope he halted and listened. It was silent around, – so silent in fact that his steps were heard clearly on the snow. In proportion as he receded from the walls, he stepped more carefully. He halted again, and again listened. He was somewhat afraid of slipping and falling, and thus dampening his precious roll; he drew out his rapier therefore and leaned on it. That helped him greatly. Thus feeling his way, after the course of half an hour he heard a slight sound directly in front.

"Ah! they are watching. The sortie has taught them wariness," thought he.

And he went farther now very slowly. He was glad that he had not gone astray, for the darkness was such that he could not see the end of the rapier.

"Those trenches are considerably farther: I am advancing well then!" whispered he to himself.

He hoped also not to find men before the intrenchment; for, properly speaking, they had nothing to do there, especially at night. It might be that at something like a hundred or fewer yards apart single sentries were stationed; but he hoped to pass them in such darkness. It was joyous in his soul.

Kmita was not only daring but audacious. The thought of bursting the gigantic gun delighted him to the bottom of his soul, – not only as heroism, not only as an immortal service to the besieged, but as a terrible damage to the Swedes. He imagined how Miller would be astounded, how he would gnash his teeth, how he would gaze in helplessness on those walls; and at moments pure laughter seized him.

And as he had himself said, he felt no emotion, no fear, no unquiet. It did not even enter his head to what an awful danger he was exposing himself. He went on as a school-boy goes to an orchard to make havoc among apples. He recalled other times when he harried Hovanski, stole up at night to a camp of thirty thousand with two hundred such fighters as himself.

His comrades stood before his mind: Kokosinski, the gigantic Kulvyets-Hippocentaurus, the spotted Ranitski, of senatorial stock, and others; then for a moment he sighed after them. "If they were here now," thought he, "we might blow up six guns." Then the feeling of loneliness oppressed him somewhat, but only for a short while; soon memory brought before his eyes Olenka. Love spoke in him with immeasurable power. He was moved to tenderness. If she could see him, the heart would rejoice in her this time. Perhaps she thinks yet that he is serving the Swedes. He is serving them nicely! And soon he will oblige them! What will happen when she learns of all these perils? What will she think? She will think surely, "He is a whirlwind, but when it comes to a deed which no other can do, he will do it; where another dares not go, he will go. Such a man is that Kmita!"

"Another such deed I shall never accomplish," said Pan Andrei; and boastfulness seized him completely. Still, in spite of these thoughts he did not forget where he was, whither he was going, what he intended to do; and he began to advance like a wolf on a night pasture. He looked behind once and a second time. No church, no cloister! All was covered with thick, impenetrable gloom. He noted, however, by the time, that he must have advanced far already, and that the trench might be right there.

"I am curious to know if there are sentries," thought he.

But he had not advanced two steps after giving himself this question, when, in front of him, was heard the tramp of measured steps and a number of voices inquired at various distances, —

"Who goes?"

Pan Andrei stood as if fixed to the earth. He felt hot.

"Ours," answered a number of voices.

"The watchword!"

"Upsala."

"The counter-sign!"

"The crown."

Kmita saw at this moment that there was a change of sentries. "I'll give you Upsala and a crown!" And he rejoiced. This was really for him a very favorable circumstance, for he might pass the line of guards at the moment of changing sentries, when the tramp of the soldiers drowned his own steps.

In fact, he did so without the least difficulty, and went after the returning soldiers rather boldly up to the trench itself. There they made a turn to go around it; but he pushed quickly into the ditch and hid in it.

Meanwhile objects had become somewhat more visible; Pan Andrei thanked Heaven, for in the previous darkness he could not by feeling have found the gun sought for. Now, by throwing back his head and straining his vision, he saw above him a black line, indicating the edge of the trench, and also the black outlines of the baskets between which stood the guns.

He could indeed see their jaws thrust out a little above the trench. Advancing slowly in the ditch, he discovered the great gun at last. He halted and began to listen. From the intrenchment a noise came, – a murmur; evidently the infantry were near the guns, in readiness. But the height of the intrenchment concealed Kmita; they might hear him, they could not see him. Now he had only to rise from below to the mouth of the gun, which was high above his head.

Fortunately the sides of the ditch were not too steep; and besides the embankment freshly made, or moist with water, had not frozen, since for some time there had been a thaw.

Taking note of all this, Kmita began to sink holes quietly in the slope of the intrenchment and to climb slowly to the gun. After fifteen minutes' work he was able to seize the opening of the culverin. Soon he was hanging in the air, but his uncommon strength permitted him to hold himself thus till he pushed the roll into the jaws of the cannon.

"Here's dog sausage for thee!" muttered he, "only don't choke with it!"

Then he slipped down and began to look for the string, which, fastened to the inner side of the roll, was hanging to the ditch. After a while he felt it with his hand. But then came the greatest difficulty, for he had to strike fire and ignite the string.

Kmita waited for a moment, thinking that the noise would increase somewhat among the soldiers in the breastworks. At last he began to strike the flint lightly with the steel. But that moment above his head was heard in German the question, —

"Who is there in the ditch?"

"It is I, Hans!" answered Kmita, without hesitation; "the devils have taken my ramrod into the ditch, and I am striking fire to find it."

"All right, all right," said the gunner. "It is your luck there is no firing, for the wind would have taken your head off."

"Ah!" thought Kmita, "the gun besides my charge has still its own, – so much the better."

At that moment the sulphur-string caught, and delicate little sparks began to run upward along its dry exterior.

It was time to disappear. Kmita hurried along the ditch with all the strength in his legs, not losing an instant, not thinking overmuch of the noise he was making. But when he had run twenty yards, curiosity overcame in him the feeling of his terrible danger.

"The string has gone out, there is moisture in the air!" thought he; and he stopped. Casting a look behind, he saw a little spark yet, but much higher than he had left it.

"Eh, am I not too near?" thought he; and fear hurried him forward.

He pushed on at full speed; all at once he struck a stone and fell. At that moment a terrible roar rent the air; the earth trembled, pieces of wood, iron, stones, lumps of ice and earth, whistled about his ears, and here his sensations ended.

After that were heard new explosions in turn. These were powder-boxes standing near the cannon which exploded from the shock.

But Kmita did not hear these; he lay as if dead in the ditch. He did not hear also how, after a time of deep silence, the groans of men were heard, cries and shouts for help; how nearly half the army, Swedish and allied, assembled.

The confusion and uproar lasted long, till from the chaos of testimony the Swedish general reached the fact that the siege-gun had been blown up of purpose by some one. Search was ordered immediately. In the morning the searching soldiers found Kmita lying in the ditch.

It appeared that he was merely stunned from the explosion. He had lost, to begin with, control of his hands and feet. His powerlessness lasted the whole ensuing day. They nursed him with the utmost care. In the evening he had recovered his power almost completely.

He was brought then by command before Miller, who occupied the middle place at the table in his quarters; around him sat the Prince of Hesse, Count Veyhard, Sadovski, all the noted officers of the Swedes, of the Poles, Zbrojek, Kalinski, and Kuklinovski. The last at sight of Kmita became blue, his eyes burned like two coals, and his mustaches began to quiver. Without awaiting the question of the general, he said, —

"I know 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, —