It moves too quickly." A strange expression came over the peasant's face, at no time a pleasing physiognomy.

The bloodshot eyes flared up suddenly like a smouldering flame in brown paper.

The unsteady, drink-sodden lips twitched.

The man threw up his shaggy head, upon which hair and beard mingled in unkempt confusion.

He glared along the road with eyes and face aglow with a sullen, beast-like hatred.
"A carriage! Then it is for the castle." "Possibly," answered the starosta.
"The prince--curse him, curse his mother's soul, curse his wife's offspring!" "Yes," said the starosta quietly.