The abbot struck him a second time.
"Then take her!"
"Take her!" exclaimed Matsko, like an echo.
At this Zbyshko gathered his hair under the net, and answered calmly,—
"How am I to take her when I made a vow in Tynets before the altar to Danusia, the daughter of Yurand?"
"Thou didst promise peacock-plumes, find them, but take Yagenka now."
"No," answered Zbyshko, "when she threw a veil over me I promised to marry her."
The abbot's face was filling with blood, his ears became blue, and his eyes were swelling out; he approached Zbyshko, and said in a voice choking with anger,—
"Thy vows are chaff, and I am wind, dost understand? Here!"
And he blew at his head with such force that his hair net flew off, and the hair was scattered in disorder over his arms and shoulders. Then Zbyshko wrinkled his brows, and, looking straight into the abbot's eyes, answered,—
"In my vow is my honor, and I am guardian myself of that honor."
When he heard this the abbot, unaccustomed to resistance, lost breath to the degree that speech was taken for a time from him. Next came an ominous silence, which Matsko broke finally,—
"Zbyshko!" cried he, "remember thyself. What is the matter with thee?"
The abbot now raised his arm, and, pointing at the young man, he shouted,—
"What is the matter with him? I know what the matter is. The soul in him is not knightly, and not noble, it is the soul of a hare! This is the matter with him, he is afraid of Vilk and Stan."
But Zbyshko, who had not lost his cool blood for an instant, shrugged his shoulders, and said,—
"Oh, pshaw! I smashed their heads in Kresnia."
"Fear God!" cried Matsko.
The abbot looked at Zbyshko for some time with staring eyes, anger struggled in him with admiration; and at the same time his native quick wit began to remind him that from that beating of Vilk and Stan he might gain for his plans some advantage. So, recovering somewhat, he shouted at Zbyshko,—
