“It is not I that blaspheme, but my entrails, on which hunger is playing, as on a fiddle—”
“The Swedes will dance to the music,” interrupted Volodyovski. “Now, gentlemen, let us advance quickly! I should like to come up with them exactly at that inn in the forest which we passed in coming hither.”
And he led on the squadron quickly, but not too quickly. They rode into a dense forest in which darkness enclosed them. The inn was less than two miles distant. When Volodyovski had drawn near, he went again at a walk, so as not to alarm the Swedes too soon. When not more than a cannon-shot away, the noise of men was heard.
“They are there and making an uproar!” said Pan Michael.
The Swedes had, in fact, stopped at the inn, looking for some living person to give information. But the place was
