"Go to Amyley's house to-day and lie down a little. Let them put some cure on your wound; to-morrow you will go to the castellan."
"Well, then, with God!"
They embraced and Matsko turned to the door; but he stopped on the threshold and wrinkled his brow as if thinking of something on a sudden.
"Well, but thou dost not wear a knight's belt yet. Lichtenstein will answer that he cannot fight with an unbelted man, and what wilt thou do?"
Zbyshko was perplexed for a while, and then asked,—
"But how is it in war? Must belted men choose only belted men as opponents?"
"War is war, but a duel is different."
"True—but—wait— There is need to arrange this. Yes, you see,—there is a way! Prince Yanush of Mazovia will give me a belt. When the princess and Danusia beg him, he will gird me. And on the road I will fight right away with the son of Mikolai of Dlugolyas."
"What for?"
"Because Pan Mikolai—he who is with the princess and whom they call Obuh—said that Danusia was a chit."
Matsko looked at him with astonishment. Zbyshko, wishing evidently to explain better what the question was, continued,—
"I cannot forgive him that, you know; but with Mikolai I will not fight, for he is about eighty years old."
"Listen, boy!" said Matsko. "I am sorry for thy head, but not for thy sense; thou art as stupid as a hornless he-goat."
"But what are you angry about?"
Matsko said nothing, and wanted to go; but Zbyshko sprang up once more to him.
"And how is Danusia? Is she well? Be not angry for a trifle. Besides, you were absent so long."
And he bent again to the old man's hand. Matsko shrugged his shoulders and said, "Yurand's daughter is in good health, but they do not let her out of the room. Farewell."
Zbyshko was left alone, but reborn, as it were, in soul and body. It was pleasant for him to think that he would have three months more of life, that he would go to distant lands, seek out Lichtenstein, and fight a mortal battle with him. At the very thought of this, delight filled his breast.
