and the guests looked at one another with great surprise.
"Princess Anna Danuta," said one of the townsmen, "she is Kiejstutowna,[11] Janusz Mazowiecki's wife. She was in Krakow two weeks, but she went to Zator to visit Prince Waclaw, and now she is coming back."
"Uncle Gamroth," said the other townsman, "let us go to the barn and sleep on the hay; the company is too high for us."
"I don't wonder they are traveling during the night," said Macko, "because the days are very warm; but why do they come to the inn when the monastery is so near?"
Here he turned toward Zbyszko:
"The beautiful Ryngalla's own sister; do you understand?"
And Zbyszko answered:
"There must be many Mazovian ladies with her, hej!"
CHAPTER II
At that moment the princess entered. She was a middle-aged lady with a smiling face, dressed in a red mantle and light green dress with a golden girdle around her hips. The princess was followed by the ladies of the court; some not yet grown up, some of them older; they had pink and lilac wreaths on their heads, and the majority of them had lutes in their hands. Some of them carried large bunches of fresh, flowers, evidently plucked by the roadside. The room was soon filled, because the ladies were followed by some courtiers and young pages. All were lively, with mirth on their faces, talking loudly or humming as if they were intoxicated with the beauty of the night. Among the courtiers, there were two rybalts;[12] one had a lute and the other had a gensla[13] at his girdle. One of the girls who was very young, perhaps twelve years old, carried behind the princess a very small lute ornamented with brass nails.
"May Jesus Christ be praised!" said the princess, standing in the centre of the room.
"For ages and ages, amen!" answered those present, in the meanwhile saluting very profoundly.
"Where is the host?"
The German having heard the call, advanced to the front and kneeled, in the German fashion, on one knee.
"We are going to stop here and rest," said the lady. "Only be quick, because we are hungry."
The townsmen had already gone; now the two noblemen, and with them Macko of Bogdaniec and young Zbyszko, bowed again, intending to leave the room, as they did not wish to interfere with the court.
But the princess detained them.
"You are noblemen; you do not intrude, you are acquainted with courtiers.
From where has God conducted you?"
Then they mentioned their names,[14] their coats of arms, their nicknames and the estates from which they received their names. The lady having heard from wlodyka[15] Macko that he had been to Wilno, clapped her hands, and said:
"How well it has happened! Tell us about Wilno and about my brother and sister. Is Prince Witold coming for the queen's confinement and for the christening?"
"He would like to, but does not know whether he will be able to do so; therefore he sent a silver cradle to the queen for a present. My nephew and I brought that cradle."
"Then the cradle is here? I would like to see it! All silver?"
"All silver; but it is not here. The Basilians took it to Krakow."
"And what are you doing in Tyniec?"
"We returned here to see the procurator of the monastery who is our relative, in order to deposit with the worthy monks, that with which the war has blessed us and that which the prince gave us for a present."
"Then God gave you good luck and valuable booty? But tell me why my brother is uncertain whether he will come?"
"Because he is preparing an expedition against the Tartars."
"I know it; but I am grieved that the queen did not prophesy a happy result for that expedition, and everything she predicts is always fulfilled."
Macko smiled.
"Ej, our lady is a prophetess, I cannot deny; but with Prince Witold, the might of our knighthood will go, splendid men, against whom nobody is able to contend."
"Are you not going?"
"No, I was sent with the cradle, and for five years I have not taken off my armor," answered Macko, showing the furrows made by the cuirass on his reindeer jacket; "but let me rest, then I will go, or if I do not go myself then I will send this youth, my nephew, Zbyszko, to Pan[16] Spytko of Melsztyn, under whose command all our knights will go."
Princess Danuta glanced at Zbyszko's beautiful figure; but further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a monk from the monastery, who having greeted the princess, began to humbly reproach her, because she had not sent a courier with the news that she was coming, and because she had not stopped at the monastery, but in an ordinary inn which was not worthy of her majesty. There are plenty of houses and buildings in the monastery where even an ordinary man will find hospitality, and royalty is still more welcome, especially the wife of that prince from whose ancestors and relatives, the abbey had experienced so many benefits.
But the princess answered mirthfully:
"We came here only to stretch our limbs; in the morning we must be in Krakow. We sleep during the day and we travel during the night, because it is cooler. As the roosters were crowing, I did not wish to awaken the pious monks, especially with such a company which thinks more about singing and dancing than about repose."
But when the monk still insisted, she added:
"No. We will stay here. We will spend the time well in singing lay songs, but we will come to the church for matins in order to begin the day with God."
"There will be a mass for the welfare of the gracious prince and the gracious princess," said the monk.
"The prince, my husband, will not come for four or five days."
"The Lord God will be able to grant happiness even from afar, and in the meanwhile let us poor monks at least bring some wine from the monastery."
"We will gladly repay," said the princess.
When the monk went out, she called:
"Hej, Danusia! Danusia! Mount the bench and make our hearts merry with the same song you sang in Zator."
Having heard this, the courtiers put a bench in the centre of the room. The rybalts sat on the ends, and between them stood that young girl who had carried behind the princess the lute ornamented with brass nails. On her head she had a small garland, her hair falling on her shoulders, and she wore a blue dress and red shoes with long points. On the bench she looked like a child, but at the same time, a beautiful child, like some figure from a church. It was evident that she was not singing for the first time before the princess, because she was not embarrassed.
"Sing, Danusia, sing!" the young court girls shouted.
She seized the lute, raised her head like a bird which begins to sing, and having closed her eyes, she began with a silvery voice:
"If I only could get
The wings like a birdie,
I would fly quickly
To my dearest Jasiek!"
The rybalts accompanied her, one on the gensliks, the other on a big lute; the princess, who loved the lay songs better than anything else in the world, began to move her head back and forth, and the young girl sang further with a thin, sweet childish voice, like a bird singing in the forest:
"I would then be seated
On the high enclosure:
Look, my dear Jasiulku,
Look on me, poor orphan."
And then the rybalts played. The young Zbyszko of Bogdaniec, who being accustomed from childhood to war and its dreadful sights, had never in his life heard anything like it; he touched a Mazur[17] standing beside him and asked:
"Who is she?"
"She