But Jurand interrupted, gloomily: "And God's punishment!"
"Why should there be punishment?" inquired Zbyszko. "Consider only, they had sent for her before the ceremony, and whether it had been performed or not, they would have carried her off nevertheless."
But Jurand again replied nothing, and rode on alone, gloomy, and with such a stony face, that though Zbyszko at first felt the relief that confession of a long concealed thing always produces, at length he was seized with fear and said to himself, with constantly increasing fear, that the old knight was bitterly angered, and that thenceforth they would be strangers and foes to each other. And there came upon him a moment of great depression. He had never felt so badly since his departure from Bogdaniec. It seemed to him now that there was no hope of reconciliation with Jurand, nor, what was far worse, of saving Danusia, that all was of no avail, and that in the future still greater misfortunes and miseries would befall him. But this depression of spirits lasted a short while only, and, in accordance with his nature, it soon changed into anger, and a desire for quarreling and fight. "He does not want peace," he said to himself, thinking of Jurand, "then let there be discord, let come what will!" And he was ready to fly at Jurand's face. He also longed for a fight with anybody for anything, merely to do something, merely to give vent to his grief, bitterness and anger, and so find some relief.
Meanwhile they arrived at an inn at a ford called Swietlik, where Jurand, on his return from the prince's court, usually allowed his people and horses to rest. He did so now also involuntarily. After a while he and Zbyszko found themselves alone in a separate chamber. Suddenly Jurand stopped before the young knight and, fixing his eyes upon him, inquired: "Did you wander about for her sake?"
The other almost harshly retorted: "Do you suppose that I shall deny it?" And he looked straight into Jurand's eyes, ready to meet anger with anger. But there was no indignation in the old warrior's face; there was only almost boundless grief.
"And you saved my child?" he inquired, after a moment, "and dug me out?"
But Zbyszko looked at him in astonishment and fear that his mind was wandering, because Jurand repeated exactly the same questions that he had already asked.
"Be seated," he said, "because it seems to me that you are still weak."