what is not proper, for the honor of a knight. People have heard of me also, and I will say this to thee, that had I done a deed like thine I should not be ashamed to beg forgiveness for it."
Zbyshko blushed, but casting his eyes around, he said: "The ground is even here, if it were a little trampled. Rather than pray the German, I should prefer to meet him on horseback or on foot to the death, or to slavery."
"Thou art stupid!" said Matsko. "How couldst thou do battle with an envoy? It is not for thee to do battle with him, or him with thee, a beardless youth."
"Forgive, noble lord," said he, turning to Povala. "The boy has become insolent because of the war. Better not let him talk to the German, for he would offend him a second time. I will beg, and if after his mission is ended that comtur wishes to fight in an inclosure, man against man, I will meet him."
"He is a knight of great family, who will not meet everyone," answered Povala.
"Is he? But do I not wear a belt and spurs? A prince might meet me."
"That is true, but speak not to him of battle unless he mentions it himself; I fear lest he might grow malignant against you. Well, may God aid you!"
"I will go to take thy trouble on myself," said Matsko to his nephew, "but wait here."
Then he approached the Knight of the Cross, who, having halted some yards distant, was sitting motionless on his horse, which was as large as a camel. The man himself looked like a cast-iron statue, and listened with supreme indifference to the above conversation. Matsko, during long years of war, had learned German; so now he began to explain to the comtur in that language what had happened. He laid blame on the youth and impulsive character of the young man to whom it had seemed that God himself had sent a knight with a peacock-plume, and finally began to beg forgiveness for Zbyshko.
But the comtur's face did not quiver. Stiff and erect, with raised head, he looked with his steel eyes at the speaking Matsko with as much indifference and at the same time with as much unconcern as if he were not looking at the knight or even at a man, but at a stake or a fence. Matsko noted this, and though his words did not cease to be polite, the soul in him began evidently to storm; he spoke with
