ed their heads!

But they raised them straightway, for the master was playing stronger and
higher notes; he changed his measure, and proclaimed something quite
different from what had preceded. Once more he looked down and measured
the strings with his eye; he joined his hands and smote with the two
hammers in unison: the blow was so artistic, so powerful, that the strings
rang like brazen trumpets, and from the trumpets a well-known song floated
to the heavens, a triumphal march, "Poland has not yet perished; march,
Dombrowski, to Poland!"--And all clapped their hands, and all shouted in
chorus, "March, Dombrowski!"

The musician seemed amazed at his own song; he dropped the hammers from
his hands and raised his arms aloft; his fox-skin cap dropped from his
head to his shoulders; his uplifted beard waved majestically; his cheeks
glowed with a strange flush; in his glance, full of spirit, shone the lire
of youth. At last, when the old man turned his eyes on Dombrowski, he
covered them with his hands, and from under his hands gushed a stream of
tears.

"General," said he, "long has our Lithuania awaited thee--long, even as we
Jews have awaited the Messiah; of thee in olden times minstrels prophesied
among the folk; thy coming was heralded by a marvel in the sky. Live and
wage war, O thou our--"

As he spoke, he sobbed; the honest Jew loved his country like a Pole!
Dombrowski extended his hand to him and thanked him; Jankiel, doffing his
cap, kissed the leader's hand.

It was time to begin the polanaise.--The Chamberlain stepped forward, and,
lightly throwing back the flowing sleeves of his kontusz and twirling his
mustache, he offered his arm to Zosia; with a polite bow he invited her to
lead off in the first couple. Behind the Chamberlain a long line of
couples formed; the signal was given and the dance began--he was its
leader.

Over the greensward glittered his crimson boots, the light gleamed from
his sabre and his rich girdle shone; he advanced slowly, with seeming
carelessness--yet in every step and every motion one could read the
feelings and the thoughts of the dancer. He stopped, as if he wished to
question his lady; he bent his head down towards her as if wishing to
whisper in her ear; the lady averted her head, was bashful, would not
listen; he doffed his white cap and bowed humbly; the lady deigned to gaze
upon him, but still kept a stubborn silence; he slackened his pace,
followed her glances with his