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All were hushed as if struck by lightning! But at the same moment

a terrible shouting arose outside the house, "Vivat the Count!"

He was riding into Maciej's yard, armed himself, and followed by

ten armed jockeys. The Count was mounted on a mettled steed and

dressed in black garments; over them a nut-brown cloak of Italian

cut, broad and without sleeves, and fastened at the neck with a

buckle, fell from his shoulders like a great shroud. He wore a

round hat with a feather, and carried a sword in his hand; he

wheeled about and saluted the throng with the sword.

"Vivat the Count!" they cried; "we will live and die with him!"

The gentry began to gaze out of the cottage through the windows,

and to press continually towards the door behind the Warden. The

Warden went out, and behind him the crowd tumbled through the

door; Maciek drove out the remnant, shut the door, bolted it,

and, looking out through the window, said once more, "Idiots!"