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And when I drew my sabre, then many thousand sabres had glittered

round about, striking terror to the lords' castles,-But now the

very children of the peasant boors laughed at me! So paltry had I

quickly made myself in the eyes of men! Jacek Soplica! He who

knows the feeling of pride--"

Here the Bernardine grew weak and fell back on the bed, and the

Warden said, deeply moved:-

"Great are the judgments of God! It is the truth! the truth! So

is it you? and are you Jacek? the Soplica? in a monk's cowl? Have

you been living a beggar's life! You, whom I remember when you

were strong and rosy, a handsome gentlemen, when lords flattered

you, when women went mad over you! The mustachioed champion! That

was not so long ago! it is grief that has aged you thus! How

could I fail to recognise you from that shot, when you hit the

bear with so sure an aim? For our Lithuania had no better

marksman than you, and next to Maciek you were also the foremost

swordsman! It is the truth! Once the gentlewomen sang of you:-