“That is nothing!” cried Kmita. “You are not a prisoner; you are my brother, my friend! Tell me what you wish! In God’s name, tell me what you wish!”
“To rest awhile,” answered Hassling, breathing heavily; and he was silent. He merely pressed the hands which Pan Michael and Zagloba gave him. At last, seeing that all were burning with curiosity, he continued,—
“I forewarned her too of what all knew, that the prince’s physician was preparing some intoxicating drug. Meanwhile fears turned out to be groundless, for God interfered in the affair. He touched the prince with his finger, threw him on a bed of sickness, and kept him there a month. It is a marvel, gentlemen, but it happened as if he had been cut from his feet, as with a scythe, that same day, when he intended to attack the virtue o
