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Gentlemen, long have I lived, and but one man have I seen who

could boast himself such a marksman: that man once famous among

us for so many duels, who used to shoot out the heels from under

women's shoes, that scoundrel of scoundrels, renowned in

memorable times, that Jacek, commonly called Mustachio; his

surname I will not mention. But now it is no time for him to be

hunting bears; that ruffian is certainly buried in Hell up to his

very mustaches. Glory to the Monk, he has saved the lives of two

men, and perhaps of three. Gerwazy will not boast, but if the

last child of the Horeszkos' blood had fallen into the jaws of

the beast, I should no longer be in this world, and perhaps the

bear would have gnawed clean my old bones. Come, Father Monk, let

us drink your good health!"