"We will come with tatulo to Ciechanow," answered Danusia.
"If only you do not become sick--or--God may preserve you from some bad accident.--You must go to Spychow--I know! Hej! I must be thankful to God and to our gracious lady, that you are already mine--because we are married and no human force can break our marriage."
But as this marriage was performed secretly during the night and separation was necessary immediately afterward, therefore from time to time, not only Zbyszko, but everybody was filled with sadness. The conversation was broken. From time to time, also the fire was quenched and plunged all heads in obscurity. Then the ksiondz Wyszoniek threw fresh logs on the charcoal and when something whined in the wood, as happens very often when the wood is fresh, he said: "Penitent soul, what do you wish?"
The crickets answered him and the increasing flames which brought out from the shadow the sleepless faces, were reflected in Sir de Lorche's armor, lighting in the meanwhile Danusia's white dress and the immortelles on her head.
The dogs outside again began to howl in the direction of the forest, as they usually do, when they scent wolves.
As the hours of the night flew on, oftener there was silence; finally the princess said: "Sweet Jesus! We had better go to bed if we are going to sit like this after a wedding, but as it was determined to watch until morning, then play for us, my little flower, for the last time before your departure, on the little lute--for me and for Zbyszko."
"What shall I play?" asked she.
"What?" said the princess. "What else if not the same song which you sang in Tyniec, when Zbyszko saw you for the first time."
"Hej! I remember--and shall never forget it," said Zbyszko. "When I heard that song somewhere else--I cried."
"Then I will sing it!" said Danusia.
And immediately she began to thrum on the lute; then, having raised her little head, she sang: "If I only could get The wings like a birdie, I would fly quickly To my dearest Jasiek! I would then be seated On the high enclosure; Look, my dear Jasiulku, Look on me, poor orphan."
But at once her voice broke, her mouth began to tremble and from beneath the closed eyelids the tears began to flow down her cheeks. For a moment she tried not to let them pass the eyelashes, but she could not keep them back and finally she began to cry, exactly as she did the last time she sang that song to Zbyszko in the prison in Krakow.