recognized him by the cross embroidered on his mantle, but the envoy knew neither him nor Zbyshko, because the first time he had seen them they were in helmets, and in a helmet, even with raised vizor, it was possible to see only a small part of the face. While passing he nodded toward Povala and Toporchyk, then, with his attendants, he ascended the steps of the cathedral, with an important and majestic tread.
Just at that moment the bells sounded, announcing that mass would begin soon, and frightening a flock of daws and doves gathered in the towers. Matsko and Zbyshko, somewhat disturbed by the quick return of Lichtenstein, entered the church with others. But the old man was now the more disturbed, for the king's court took all the young knight's attention. Never in his life had Zbyshko seen anything so imposing as that church and that assembly. On the right and on the left he was surrounded by the most famous men of the kingdom, renowned in counsel, or in war. Many of those whose wisdom had effected the marriage of the Grand Prince of Lithuania with the marvellous young Queen of Poland had died, but some were still living, and on them people looked with uncommon respect. The youthful knight could not gaze enough at the noble figure of Yasko of Tenchyn, the castellan of Cracow, in which severity and dignity were blended with uprightness; he admired the wise and dignified faces of other counsellors, and the strong visages of knights with hair cut straight above their brows and falling in long locks at the sides of their heads and behind. Some wore nets, others only ribbons holding the hair in order. Foreign guests, envoys of the King of Rome, Bohemians, Hungarians, Austrians, with their attendants, astonished with the great elegance of their dresses; the princes and boyars of Lithuania, standing near the side of the king, in spite of the summer and the burning days, for show's sake wore shubas lined with costly fur; the Russian princes, in stiff and broad garments, looked, on the background of the walls and the gilding of the church, like Byzantine pictures.
But Zbyshko waited with the greatest curiosity for the entrance of the king and queen, and forced his way up as much as possible toward the stalls, beyond which, near the altar, were two velvet cushions,—for the royal couple always heard mass on their knees. Indeed, people did not wait long; the king entered first, by the door of the sacristy,
