great warriors, each has his custom. Hannibal used to play dice; Scipio Africanus declaimed verses; Pan Konyetspolski the father always conversed about fair heads; and I like to sleep an hour or so before battle, though I am not averse to a glass with good friends."
"See, gentlemen. Bishop Parchevski is as pale as a sheet of paper!" said Stanislav Skshetuski.
"For he is sitting at a Calvinist table, and may swallow easily something unclean in the food," explained Zagloba, in a low voice. "To drinks, the old people say, the devil has no approach, and those can be taken everywhere; but food, and especially soups, one should avoid. So it was in the Crimea, when I was there in captivity. The Tartar mullahs or priests knew how to cook mutton with garlic in such a way that whoever tasted it was willing that moment to desert his faith and accept their scoundrel of a prophet." Here Zagloba lowered his voice still more : "Not through contempt for the prince do I say this, but I advise you, gentlemen, to let the food pass, for God protects the guarded."
"What do you say? Whoso commends himself to God before eating is safe; with us in Great Poland there is no end of Lutherans and Calvinists, but I have not heard that they bewitched food."
"With you in Great Poland there is no end of Lutherans, and so they sniffed around at once with the Swedes," said Zagloba, "and are in friendship with them now. In the prince's place, I would hunt those envoys away with dogs, instead of filling their stomachs with dainties. But look at that Löwenhaupt; he is eating just as if he were to be driven to the fair with a rope around his leg before the month's end. Besides, he will stuff his pockets with dried fruit for his wife and children. I have forgotten how that other fellow from over the sea is called. Oh, may thou — "
"Father, ask Michael," said Yan.
Pan Michael was sitting not far away; but he heard nothing, he saw nothing, for he was between two ladies. On his left sat Panna Syelavski, a worthy maiden about forty years old, and on his right Olenka, beyond whom sat Kmita. Panna Syelavski shook her feather-decked head above the little knight, and narrated something with great rapidity. He looked at her from time to time with a vacant stare, and answered continually, "As true as life, gracious lady!" but understood not a word she said, for all his attention was turned to the other side. He
