"He might escape if you gentlemen would conceal from the king what has happened."
"But what shall we do with the German? I cannot tie his tongue in a knot, of course."
"True! true!"
Thus speaking they advanced toward the retinue of the princess. Povala's attendants, who before mixed with Lichtenstein's people, now rode behind them. From afar were visible among Mazovian caps the waving peacock-plumes of the Knight of the Cross, and his bright helmet gleaming in the sun.
"The Knights of the Cross have a wonderful nature," said Povala of Tachev, as if roused from meditation. "When a Knight of the Cross is in trouble he is as reasonable as a Franciscan, as mild as a lamb, and as sweet as honey, so that a better man thou wilt not find in the world; but let him once feel strength behind him, none is more swollen with pride, with none wilt thou find less mercy. It is evident that the Lord Jesus gave them flint instead of hearts. I have observed very many nations, and more than once have I seen a true knight spare the weaker, saying to himself, 'My honor will not be increased if I trample on the prostrate.' But just when the weaker is down the Knight of the Cross is most unbending. Hold him by the head and he will not be proud; if thou act otherwise woe to thee. Take this envoy; he required right away, not merely your prayer for pardon, but your disgrace. I am glad that that will not happen."
"There is no waiting for it!" called out Zbyshko.
After these words they rode up to the retinue and joined the court of the princess.
The envoy of the Knights of the Cross, when he saw them, assumed immediately an expression of pride and contempt. But they feigned not to see him. Zbyshko halted at Danusia's side and told her joyfully that Cracow was clearly visible from the hill. Matsko began to tell a chorister of the uncommon strength of Povala, the lord of Tachev, who broke a spear in Zbyshko's hand as if it had been a dry reed.
"But why did he break it?" asked the chorister.
"Because the young man had levelled it at the German, but only in jest."
The chorister, who was a noble and a man of experience, did not think such a jest very becoming, but seeing that
