“Just think! the smallest bit of anything in the eye prevents sight; why should not great drops of pitch reaching the brain cause madness?“
“Oh, it is a very delicate organ,“ said Pan Longin.
At this moment the old princess noticed the changed face of Bogun.
“What is the matter, my falcon?“
“My soul is suffering, mother,“ said he, gloomily; “but a Cossack word is not smoke. I will endure.“
“Hold out, my son; there will be a feast.“
Supper came to an end, but mead was poured into the goblets unsparingly. Cossacks called to the dance came, therefore, with greater readiness. The balalaikas and drums, to which the drowsy attendants were to dance, began to sound. Later on, the young princes dropped into the prisyadka. The old princess, putting her hands on her sides, began to keep time wi
