I picked up the purse which had fallen out, and put it back in his
pocket, thanking him, and saying it would be useless to me, for if I were
guilty I was content to lose my head. "I hope," I added, "that your wound
will not be mortal, and I am deeply grieved at your obliging me to
fight."

With these words I kissed him on his brow and left the inn, seeing
neither horses nor carriage, nor servant. They had all gone off for
doctor, surgeon, priest, and the friends and relatives of the wounded
man.

I was alone and without any weapon, in the midst of a snow-covered
country, my hand was wounded, and I had not the slightest idea which was
the way to Warsaw.

I took the road which seemed most likely, and after I had gone some
distance I met a peasant with an empty sleigh.

"Warszawa?" I cried, shewing him a ducat.

He understood me, and lifted a coarse mat, with which he covered me when
I got into the sleigh, and then set off at a gallop.

All at once Biniski, Branicki's bosom-friend, came galloping furiously
along the road with his bare sword in his hand. He was evidently running
after me. Happily he did not glance at the wretched sleigh in which I
was, or else he would undoubtedly have murdered me. I got at last to
Warsaw, and went to the house of Prince Adam Czartoryski to beg him to
shelter me, but there was nobody there. Without delay I determined to