"Che timpu?"[17]

[Footnote 17: What sort of weather?]

"Luna plina."[18]

[Footnote 18: Full moon.]

A strange sort of greeting, more like an exchange of pass-words.

Then both the new arrivals entered the mill in the midst of which a dilapidated grinding machine was revolving, the central wheel was minus a couple of teeth.

"Plenty of grinding going on, Paul?" asked the old man.

"Quite enough."

"Help me down with this sack."

"It is heavy certainly," said the other, panting beneath the strain, "how much does it hold?"

"A hundredweight and eighty pounds."

"No mere Turkish maize, eh?"

"Stop the wheel!"

The young man at once obeyed by driving an iron beam clean through the wheel which brought the machinery to a standstill. Then he raised the central revolving disc which was in connection with the millstone, hung in the hook of the millstone an iron chain which was wound round the beam and this done, laid the sack and its contents on the bolting-hutch. Then the old man himself, sat down on the hutch and extended his hand to the girl. "Jump on Anicza." And the girl jumped on without help for she was as agile as a chamois.

"Paul," said the old man to the young journeyman, "was not Fatia Negra here before us?"

"He has not been through here either to-day or yesterday. It has been my turn to watch these last two days."

"I am right you see; he is not here," said the girl.

"He is here, I tell you."

"Come Onucz," said the youth, "can Black Face make himself invisible then? He could not pass here without my knowing it!"

"What do you know about it?" answered the old man, adjusting himself on the bolting-hutch. "Let the mill go!"

As now the revolving disc or platform began to move, the machinery stood still, yet the millstone together with the bolting-hutch began slowly to sink downwards together with those sitting upon it, and after some moments, disappeared entirely into a dark gulf, the chain unwinding and rattling after it. Suddenly from the depths below resounded the old man's voice: "Halt!" Then Paul stopped the mill, hung the chain in an iron ring and the machinery once more set in motion, raised the millstone up, Paul fastened the revolving disc to it and it began to rattle round again so furiously that sparks flew out of it. Now whoever had any meal to grind might come, he was quite ready for them.

It was a huge subterraneous cavern into which Onucz and Anicza had descended. At the bottom of this hollow flowed a branch of the mountain stream which turned the mill and indeed was diverted thither by means of wooden pipes. Here, however, it flowed in its regular bed, glistening here and there in the light of two oil lamps which burnt on both sides of a small iron bridge that traversed the stream.

In the background of this hollow stood a peculiar, roofless, stone building, whose two round little windows, like the eternally watchful eyes of some underground worm, shone with a red glare which dazzled the eyes, while the slate-covered chimney belched forth a thick smoke filled with sparks into the subterranean midnight.

From the interior of the building resounded heavy thuds and the din of grinding as of machinery in perpetual motion which made the very foundations of the rocks quiver. On the bridge stood another armed man with whom the new arrivals exchanged watchwords and the same thing was done at the door of the stone building where the old man made the girl stop.

"Now Anicza," said he, "while I go in, you sit down on that stone bench and wait for me."

"Why cannot I go into the house as well?" enquired the girl, impatiently.

"No more of that. Once a year we come here and every time you ask again if you can come in, and every time I tell you that cannot be. And now I tell you once more: it cannot be—and there's an end on't."

"But why may others go in and I not?"

"Why—why! because you are a girl, of course. Leave me in peace. Women have no business in there, they are always so inquisitive, want to know everything and then blab it all out—it is their nature so."

"I'm not like that."

"And then whoever enters here has to swear a frightful oath that he will divulge nothing that he sees. I myself shudder all over when I have to repeat it; it is not fit for the mouth of a woman."

"As if I were afraid of any oath!" cried the girl defiantly. "I would say any thing that a man might say."

"Don't be a fool, Anicza. A girl cannot come in here, because everyone has to strip himself stark naked before he goes out, before the watchman, and then dress himself again. So you see it won't do."

This difficulty appeared insuperable even to the iron will of Anicza. It was a test even she could not submit to. She stamped her foot with rage and uttered again and again the word Dracu, which in Roumanian means nothing less than his highness the devil himself.

Old Onucz and the watchman thereupon laughed heartily, and the same instant the iron door of the building opened and the girl exclaimed joyfully: "Fatia Negra!"

Onucz and the watchman immediately tore their caps from their heads. It was, indeed, Fatia Negra.

How could he get hither invisibly through all the ambushes set for him? Who could tell? Who had the courage to ask him? Not even Anicza. All she thought of at that moment was to rush forward, fall upon the neck of her mysterious lover and cover his eyes and mouth, which the mask left exposed, with kisses.

"Let Anicza come in!" said the black-masked man, "I'll answer for her, and she shall, like myself, be exempted from undressing."

"It is well, Domnule,"[19] said the watchman, "but let her at least take the oath which everyone here must swear."

[Footnote 19: Master.]

"I am ready," cried the girl boldly.

"No, Anicza," replied Black Mask, "you shall swear to me a stronger oath even than that, you shall swear—by our eternal love."

The proud maiden, trembling with joy, fell at the feet of Fatia Negra at these words, and pressing one of her hands to her heart, raised the other aloft, and, raising her lovely eyes—which reflected the infernal glare of the windows—aloft, towards the smoking canopy above her head, she swore by her eternal love to her beloved that she would never, not even on the rack itself, betray a word, a syllable of what she was about to learn.

But old Onucz scratched his poll.

"Domnule, it is not wise of you to let women swear on such useless things. It is just as if one of us were to hold a penny in his hand and swear by that. It binds nobody."

"It is enough for me," replied the Mask, "and my head is no cheaper than yours. Let him who trusts me not keep away from here."

And holding the girl in his arms, he carried her with him into the building while old Onucz had to dress himself from head to foot in other clothes and leave those he had brought with him outside. He would have on his return to put on his own again and leave these others behind. Thus smuggling was impossible.

The first room was for the smelting.

Here there was nothing to be seen of the blazing fire which illuminated the dark hollow through the windows, in one corner of the room was a simple cylinder shaped iron furnace which radiated a burning heat, on the top of which stood a round graphite crucible covered in at the top and provided with a lateral pipe.

"Here the gold is remelted after it has come out of the purifying oven," said Fatia Negra to the girl who pressed close up to him. "Heretofore it required a whole apparatus of boilers and loads and loads of wood to bring it to smelting heat, but since I got that cylinder-stove, ten hundredweights of metal can be melted in ten minutes."

"But where does the fire come from?" enquired the girl.

"From the earth, my beloved."

The girl shrank back with horror, and yet Fatia Negra did not mean hell but that furnace whose powerful bellows drove the melting heat into the double cylinder.

He looked at his watch, the moment had come. At a single whistle a couple of workmen appeared, each of them stripped to the waist on account of the great heat; they held in their hands large iron moulds and stood facing each other opposite the crucible. Then by means of an iron tap Fatia Negra turned the pipe of the crucible and immediately a pale glare began to spread through the room—the liquid gold ran in a thin jet out of the crucible and that was the cause of the light. Actually genuine pure gold made liquid in the fire like wine in a glass and emitting on every side of it a glowing white radiance! Each of the two workmen held his mould beneath it and the girl surveyed the scene with bated breath.

When the operation was finished Black Face turned to the girl again and embraced her saying: "So you see, darling, that is how gold is melted." The girl smiled back at him; what a pity the Black Mask could not smile in return. And now old Onucz came up with his sack for the purifying furnace.

"How much have you in your sack?" asked Fatia Negra.

"A hundredweight and eighty pounds."

"Now we'll see into how much pure gold it will work out."

"The dross mixed with it is only a few pounds in weight."

"Of what quality is it?"

"Well, they purify it very incompletely you know. It is only two-and-twenty carat gold."

"It doesn't matter: we will coin Prussian ducats out of it."

"But where's the mould?"

"I brought it with me, to-day; we'll adjust that also to the machine. We shall gain a hundred florins in every thousand."

Old Onucz kissed Fatia Negra's hand. "Domnule," said he, "you are a man indeed. Domnule, since you became our chief our gains have doubled and the ducats are so good that one cannot distinguish them from the Imperial ones."

Meanwhile the girl felt her head going round to hear them talk of nothing but money, gold, gain!

"Come Onucz, let us look at the new machinery," said the Mask.

"When did you bring the new machinery here?"

"A long time ago; we have coined a great deal of money since it first came. The work is all the quicker and we need fewer men to work it."

They went into the next room through a low door, all three of them having to bow their heads as they entered, and there they saw a gigantic machine at work between whose revolving cylinders depended the long gold ingots which were gradually reduced to the proper thinness for making gold coins.

"Don't you see, Onucz? Hitherto we wasted too much time and labour in cutting the gold plates thin enough and the edges were always too thick to our great loss. Now the machine rolls them all out uniformly. It only cost 10,000 ducats."

"Very cheap indeed!" cried the old man, who was wearing a ragged sheepskin and yet considered ten thousand ducats a moderate price for a rolling mill.

The Mask took up one of the little glistening plates.

"Do you know, my friend, the name of this?" said he.

"No."

"Its name is Zain. In order that you may not forget it I will wind it round your arm." And as if it were merely hard paper he lightly bent the gold plate round the girl's wrist and then pressed the ends of this improvised bracelet together with his steel-like fingers. "Don't forget that this is called Zain and that you got it from me."

The girl looked doubtfully at him as if she would have said: "Is it lawful for you to give away everything here as if it were your own."

But the old man could not look on at this in silence. "Alas! alas! Domnule, give not away uncoined gold. Rather squander coined gold in heaps. The other is of itself a witness against us and thereby we shall furnish a clue to our enemies."

"It is in a good place," replied Fatia Negra; "it is on Anicza's arm and there it will keep silence."

Anicza replied to this apology with ten kisses. And she calculated rightly. This necklace weighed exactly ten double ducats—but the kisses also were double ones.

Then Fatia Negra led them to another machine which cut round gold pieces out of the rolled out "Zain." He showed the girl how every clipper, how every screw beneath the impulsion of the piston did its proper share of the work, and how the whole process was set going by steam power from without and could therefore be directed and controlled by one man with another man to relieve him at intervals.

"Dumnezu!"[20] sighed old Onucz, "when I think that fifty years ago we did all this with only our hammers and chisels! We sweated two whole days over a piece of work which this marvel can do in an hour. And how many hands we employed too!"

[Footnote 20: My master.]

Then they went to another machine. This was a small table whose steel wheels notched the ducats before they passed beneath the stamping machine. Perpetually moving elastic springs pushed the gold pieces forward one after the other, turned them round and jerked them away. You saw no other motive power but a large wheel revolving under a broad strap; the strap disappeared through the floor, it was underneath there that the man who set it in motion lived.

Old Onucz sighed aloud. "What things they do invent now-a-days," said he.

But Anicza, full of superstitious fear, clung silently to the arm of Fatia Negra whom all these speechless marvels served and obeyed. Finally, descending six stone steps they entered the actual minting room.

A gigantic screw press stood in the midst of the low vaulted chamber. Through the head of the screw was driven a long moving bar, with leaden bullets at both ends and two strong fellows were pushing this bar backwards and forwards; the weight of the machine, as it turned, forced the screw sharply down and in a second it pressed the two round gold pieces laid in the steel matrix into the stamping dies, on one of which was the image of the Mother of God and on the other the cuirassed likeness of the reigning monarch. Immediately after the two matrices recoiled again of their own accord and the two powerful men repeated the pressure. Then a little steel ring shifted suddenly, flinging aside the coined ducat, and a fresh gold piece took its place. The coined ducats already lay in a heap in front of the machine and the workmen, now and then, kicked them away with their feet.

There was something impressive in the spectacle. Here were two poor men, working hard perhaps for their daily bread with little hillocks of seductive gold piled up all around them, gold of which everyone is enamoured in the earth above them, gold for which so many men gladly give up everything, even to their hope in Heaven!

Now and again a third man comes in and pitches the gold into a linen sack with a wooden shovel.

"Let us stamp a few ducats ourselves by way of souvenirs," said Fatia Negra. Anicza assenting, the workmen stepped aside, and Fatia Negra and the girl placed themselves on either side of the leaden bullets on the turning bar.

The Mask bade his sweetheart be careful to avoid the recoil of the machine for should the handle hit her the blow might prove fatal, whereupon the girl, burning to show off her great strength, did not wait for the end of the bar to recover its normal position, but seizing the iron rod when it was only half way round, tore it back again, with the result that the steel clapper did not cast the gold piece between the matrices in the usual way and it thus received a double impression, being stamped with a two-fold figure of the Mother of God on one side and a two-fold figure of the royal profile on the other.

Old Onucz rushed towards Anicza and angrily tore her away:

"You little fool, be off!" cried he, "you will spoil the machine, it is not for the likes of you."

But Fatia Negra now picked up the ducat which had fallen to the ground and showed it with a smile to Anicza: "Look," said he, "there is now a double picture on it."

The girl turned it curiously between her fingers.

"And what will happen to it now?"

"It will go into the smelting furnace again."

"Ah, don't destroy it, give it to me!"

At this the old man fairly lost his temper.

"Are you out of your mind to ask for such a thing? What! a ducat with a flaw in it, which, if seen in your hands would saddle us with the vengeance of the whole government! Domnule, be not so mad as to let her have that ducat! If she has no sense, you at least be sensible. You might ruin the whole lot of us with it."

"Well, Anicza will not wear it on her head, I suppose, or even on her neckerchief, but will fasten it to a little bit of thread and wear it next her heart, there nobody will find it but myself."

Onucz would very much have liked to say: "Neither have you any right to look there, Domnule, for you have not yet spoken to the priest about it"—but this was the one thing he durst not say.

But Anicza gratefully kissed Fatia Negra's hand like a child who has received a gift, not indeed for the ducat, but for the boundless confidence he had shown in giving it to her, which was the surest token of his love. Then she drew forth a little Turkish dagger, bored a hole with it through the ducat and fastened it to a little piece of thin black cord by the side of her little crucifix which she wore upon her bosom—and hid both of them away again.

"Well Domnule," remarked Onucz sulkily, "since we have placed our heads in the girl's hands we must beware of ever offending her."

But now the assayer came up, bringing with him a nice elaborate calculation on a black slate, showing exactly how much pure gold Onucz had handed in to the coining department, how much it would be worth when coined and deducting three per cent for expenses, how much he was to receive in cash by way of exchange.

"And now go and let the cashier pay you what is due to you, Onucz," said Fatia Negra.

And so while he remained behind for the purpose of settling his account Anicza and Fatia Negra retired to a little adjoining chamber. There would be plenty of time for two lovers to talk over their love affairs while so many gold coins were being counted out.

"Where have you been? it's a whole month since I saw you?" asked Anicza sitting on the adventurer's knee. "Do you know how long a month is to me? First quarter, new moon, full moon, last quarter, all this have I watched through and never saw you once, where have you been?"

"I have been abroad for those new machines. That is a business one cannot entrust to another."

"Are there pretty girls abroad?—Might you not fall in love with them?"

"Hush! Those are not the questions that men should be asked."

"Why not?"

"Because men are not in the habit of answering them."

"But suppose a girl wants to know?"

"Then it will go badly with her. Besides, what do you want me to tell you? Would you like to know that I'm such a block, a clod, that no other eye but yours takes any pleasure in looking at me? Or would you like to hear that I am a sort of hermit who has wandered in disguise through seven kingdoms and casts down his eyes whenever he encounters a petticoat? Or that I cross myself and turn away whenever a woman looks at me? Or shall I tell you: in such and such a place I nipped the white cheeks of a pretty blonde, and in such and such a place the coquettrie of a pair of blue eyes made me forget myself, and in such another place I bedded my intoxicated head in the arms of a brunette?—and that after wandering through seven kingdoms I have found no lovelier girl than my own enchanting Anicza?"

The girl could neither reply nor scold, for her mouth was closed fast with kisses.

"You know I am very jealous," she said at last, when she was able to tear herself free. "I do not love as others love. I can only think of you and your love. I am neither hungry nor thirsty but only—in love. I am never weary, I scarcely know that I am working, for love makes me sing and sing all day. I dream only of you. I care not what is going on in the whole world so long as I only know what is happening to you. I know that you love me and that you are mine so long as you are here. But how often you are far away! How often I do not see you for weeks, for months at a time! Then I get nearly mad. I am determined to find out where you are and what you are doing, with whom you are speaking and then I say, I feel quite mad."

"Indeed! Then let me tell you, my dear girl, that it would do you no good to know where I am, for I am much more exposed to the fire of pointed rifles than to the fire of pretty eyes."

"Are you then a robber chieftain, a mountain smuggler?"

"I am a lot of things."

"Then take me with you into your band"—she spoke with heaving bosom.

But Fatia Negra stamped his foot.

"It cannot be, Anicza," said he; "think no more of it! I will never take you with me."

"Why not?" asked the girl and her eyes flashed like a wild cat's.

"Because then I should become jealous of you and that would be bad for us both. Remain in your father's house; there you are safe."

The girl drew from her bosom the defaced ducat she had just received together with the crucifix.

"Hearken, Fatia Negra! my father says that this badly coined piece of gold places your life in my hand. And know, besides, Fatia Negra, that I have sworn on this Crucified One here that if ever you betray me I will kill you in my fury without thinking twice about the how or where. It is not well that two such dangerous objects should repose on my heart. Look! I give them both to you."

"Wherefore, Anicza?"

"Take the things, I say, and keep them, for my guardian angel knows, I have told him, that with me they are not in a safe place. You do not know me yet."

The girl burst out crying, and Fatia Negra could no longer soothe her with kisses, and then old Onucz poked his gray shaggy head through the doorway and said: "I have been paid already, Domnule, have you?"

Fatia Negra stroked the girl's hair and face and whispered her not to take on so.

The stitches of the old Roumanian's patience now, at last, gave way altogether. "Domnule," said he, "would you not, if I earnestly besought you to do so, begin to think of the day on which you intend to become my daughter's husband?"

For a moment Fatia Negra seemed thunderstruck; then he recovered himself and replied in a calm but menacing voice: "If ever it occurs to you to put the question to me again, your head will reach home an hour earlier than yourself."

The old man made no reply, but he seized the girl by the hand and led her away with him, returning to the mill with her by the same way that he had come. They found their horses by the alder trees and remounted. It was a fine clear night, and Onucz told his daughter to ride in front. They had now divided the coined gold into two portions. When they had once more reached the ridge of the mountain the old man pronounced Anicza's name in a low tone. The girl looked, backwards and perceived that the old man's long-barrelled rifle was pointed directly at the back of her head. In her terror she covered her face with her hands. "What would you do?" cried she.

"Fear nothing, I only want that piece of gold which Fatia Negra gave you. I'll not stake my head on your whimsies!"

The girl had anticipated something much worse than this, so she quietly answered: "You can spare yourself the trouble, I have already returned it to Fatia Negra. I would not carry it about with me any longer."

"You have acted wisely," said the old man, lowering his musket. "Now you can ride on."

The early dawn was breaking as they reached home. When Anicza entered her room she found hanging up beneath the ikon that gleamed and shone over her bed both the damaged ducat and the little cross which she had given to Fatia Negra two hours before. He must indeed be in league with the devil—else how could he have got there, invisibly, so long before them?

Anicza said not a word about it to anybody, but she hid both the amulets safely away in her bosom again—and now she was right proud of her Fatia Negra!



CHAPTER VIII

STRONG JUON

Henrietta's married life was not a happy one. Her husband was polite, complaisant, and conventionally correct in his behaviour towards her, and that was all. And then she saw so little of him. He was frequently absent from Hidvar for weeks at a time, and when he returned he regularly brought in his train a merry company of comrades, in whose pastimes Henrietta could take no sort of pleasure.

During those long days when she had Hidvar all to herself and was left entirely to the company of her sad thoughts, she would sometimes walk about till late in the evening in the shady alleys of the home park, listening to the songs of the girls working in the fields. At the end of the park was a church, and in front of it a small clearing fenced around with stakes and looking like a cabbage garden. It surely belonged to some poor man or other. It did—and the poor man was the parish-priest.

Henrietta often saw him, a tall, grey-bearded man in a long black cassock, hastening to his little garden; there the reverend gentleman would divest himself of his long habit, produce a rake, and work till late in the evening. Henrietta fancied at first that was merely a dietetic diversion, but afterwards, when she found him there the next day and the day after that, and at every hour of the day; when she saw him wiping the sweat from his brow in the burning afternoons and leaning wearily at intervals on his rake to rest a while from his labour, then she was persuaded that this work was not a pastime, but a bitter toil for daily bread.

Often times she would very much have liked to ask him how this was, but she was a stranger in these parts and did not understand his language; at last, however, the priest, perceiving the lady one day, peered at her through the palings and wished her good-day in the purest Hungarian, thereby giving her to understand that the language of the gentry was well known to him.

Henrietta begged the old man to leave his labour and come to her.

"It cannot be, your ladyship; his lordship has forbidden me to appear in his courts."

"Why?"

"I am always a nuisance."

"How so?"

"Because I am always on some begging errand. At one time the wind carries off the roof of the church; at another, something is broken in the belfry. It is a year ago now since the school was burnt down, and since then the walls have become overgrown with thistles; the schoolmaster too has gone away, and there is nobody to teach the children, so that they grow up louts and robbers, to the great hurt and harm of the gentry."

"But why is not all this put to rights?"

"Because the poor folks are lazy and drunken, and his lordship is stingy."

Henrietta was astonished at the old man's words.

"Yes, stingy, that's the word," continued the priest. "I do not pick my words, for I am a priest and used to hunger. And he who is used to hunger is free from the yoke of servility. I told his lordship that to his face, and that was why he forbade me the castle."

Henrietta could not continue the conversation, so upset was she at the idea of Hatszegi's stinginess. What! the man who raked in hundreds of thousands at a time with the greatest ease, and no doubt scattered them as recklessly, could shut his door in the face of a poor priest who begged for the house of God and the education of the people! She hastily wished the priest good-night and returned to the castle.

The same evening she sought her husband, who had just come home wearied from the chase, "I have a favour to ask of you," said she. Hatszegi looked astonished: it was the first favour the wife had ever asked her husband.

"Command me!" said he. "Whatever you like to ask is as good as granted already."

"I should like to learn the language of the people in the midst of whom we dwell. I am like a deaf-mute among them at present."

"That will not be difficult. The Wallachian tongue is easily acquired, especially by anyone with a knowledge of French or Latin."

Henrietta blushed scarlet. Was there a covert allusion behind these words? Did Hatszegi know that she understood Latin?

"I should like to have a master who can put me in the way of it. The parish priest here would be a suitable person."

For an instant Hatszegi's eyebrows contracted.

"You shall have your way," he said at last. "It is true that he is the one man in the world who insults me to my face with impunity whenever he meets me, and even presumes to chalk upon the walls of my own castle denunciations against me from the book of the Prophet Nehemiah, so that I was obliged to forbid him ever to appear before me under pain of being thrown headlong out of the window; yet to show you what an obedient servant I am of yours, madame, I will not baulk you of your desire, or desire you to choose another master, but will send and invite him to come up here at once. Everyone shall see that in my house, my wife is the master." And with that Leonard kissed his wife's hand and withdrew.

Early next day the pastor arrived. Margari informed him of her ladyship's desire to learn the Roumanian language, and the words almost stuck in his throat when he added that his Reverence would receive a hundred florins every month for it. Fancy! a hundred florins a month for teaching a lingo only spoken by bumpkins.

Todor Ruban—that was the priest's name—was at once conducted to her ladyship. He was an elderly man, of an open, cheerful countenance; his fine, long white hair fell in thick locks on his simple black cassock, which showed considerable signs of wear.

Henrietta was not in time to prevent the old pastor from kissing her hand.

"This is no slavish obsequiousness towards a great lady," said he, "but the respect of a poor pastor for an angel whom Heaven by a peculiar act of grace has sent down to us. This is no empty compliment, your ladyship. I am not very lavish of such things myself, but I feel bound to address you thus because I am well aware that it is not merely to learn our poor language that you pay me so well for so little trouble. No, I recognize herein the good will which would do what it can to raise and help a poor neglected population: for I certainly shall not exchange my simple maize-bread for better, but will employ your ladyship's gift in the service of God and of our poorer brethren."

From that day Henrietta believed that a call from on high had summoned her to Hidvar to be the guardian angel, the visible providence of a poor, forsaken people, and her most pleasant occupation was now to go from village to village,—often in the company of the priest, and at other times accompanied by a single groom or quite alone. Thus she visited one after the other all the surrounding parishes like any archdeacon, enquiring after and helping their necessities, distributing money for school-buildings and service books, collecting all manner of stray orphans and bringing them home with her to be fed and instructed; nay she erected a regular foundling hospital at Hidvar for the benefit of the sprouting urchins of the district, and had the liveliest debates with the priest as to the best method of managing it. Her benevolent enthusiasm cost Hatszegi a pretty penny.

"She is a child; let her play!" he would only say when Margari and Clementina represented to him that Henrietta had pawned her jewels at Fehervar in order to teach some more little Roumanian rag-a-muffins how to go about with gloves on like their betters. Nay the baron secretly instructed the tradesmen with whom Henrietta had pawned her jewels to advance her four times as much as they were worth, he would make it good again, he said—and then he would buy his wife fresh jewels. An admirable husband, truly!

One day, Henrietta had ridden out to the neighbouring Ravacsel in order to visit a poor Wallachian peasant woman, to whom she had sent some medicine a few days before. The woman, naturally, never drank the medicine, but instead of that got a village quack to rub her stomach with some wonder-working salve so vigorously that the poor patient died in consequence; in fact she was already at the last gasp when Henrietta arrived. Henrietta was beside herself with grief and anger. She felt like a doctor whose prescriptions have been interfered with by a competitor. She could not indeed help the woman, who expired soon after her arrival, but she had at least the satisfaction of making arrangements for a decent funeral. In the meantime it had grown so late that when she turned back toward Hidvar the moon was already pretty high in the heavens.

She was alone on horseback, for it was only a two hours' journey between the two places, and she had therefore not thought it worth while to bring an escort with her. Besides, whom had she to fear? Since she had lived in these parts, all the bad men had disappeared, and whoever she might meet in the roads or lanes would be ready to kiss her hand.

So she turned homewards again alone. The road wound in and out among the valleys and was therefore much longer than if it had gone in a straight direction across the mountains. She had, however, often heard from the peasants that there was a shorter way to Hidvar from Ravacsel on which mules and ponies could go, and she thought it better to look for this road lest night should surprise her among the mountains. But a road that is good enough for mules and ponies may not suit a thoroughbred English steed which does not care about putting its hoofs into the tracks of other beasts; and besides, a hundred paces on level ground is much shorter than twenty-five up hill. Henrietta vividly experienced the truth of this when she reached the summit of the hill, for her horse was sweating from every pore and trembling from the violent exertion. Such horses should not be used in hilly country: a shaggy, sturdy little pony would have treated the whole thing as a joke and not said a word about it.

But the real difficulties of the road only began during the descent, which was equally dangerous for horse and rider. The track, a mere channel washed out of the soft sandstone by the mountain torrents, descended abruptly, the stones giving way beneath the horse's hoofs and plunging after it. Frequently they had to cross very awkward places, and Henrietta could see from the way in which her horse pricked up his ears, snorted and shook his head, that he was as frightened as his mistress.

At last they came to a very bad spot indeed, where on one side of the road there was a sheer abyss, while the rocky mountain side rose perpendicularly on the other. The narrow path here ran so close to the rock that the rider had to bend her head aside so as not to knock it, and the horse could only go forward one foot at a time.

For an instant the horse stood still, as if weighing his chances on that narrow path; but, as there was no turning back now, he was obliged at last to go on.

Henrietta looked shudderingly down into the chasm below her, over which she seemed to hang suspended; and she thought to herself, with something very like a sob: what if we should stumble now!

The thought was scarcely in her mind when one of the horse's hind legs tripped, and the same instant horse and rider were precipitated into the abyss.

Henrietta never lost her head during the fall. She noticed everything that happened during the brief plunge, how the horse struggling desperately clattered down the mountain-side, how the saddle girth burst beneath the strain, how for a mere second some bush or shrub arrested the descent, and how the next instant the weight of the horse tore it down along with him. Finally, falling still lower and turning right round on its back the horse got wedged in between two rocks from which position he was fortunately unable to disengage himself, for had he fallen any further he would have been dashed to pieces.

Henrietta was quite conscious the whole time. Holding on with both hands to the roots of a bush with her left leg still in the stirrup (for saddle and stirrup also remained hanging in the bush) it occurred to her in this painful situation that she still had time to commend her soul to God and then face death more calmly. As to help, there was no hope of it, for the place was far away from all human dwellings; night would soon fall and the bush would presently yield beneath her feet—destruction was certain.

But while the lady neglected to call for assistance, the wedged-in horse did so all the more loudly. Supine and unable to free himself from his uncomfortable position, he repeatedly uttered that terrified scream which one never hears from this noble and reticent beast except in dire extremity. Whoever has heard such a cry will readily admit that it is far more terrible than any merely human appeal for assistance.

After a few moments it seemed to Henrietta as if a halloo were resounding from the depths below; looking down she perceived by the light of the moon a black shape leaping from rock to rock like a chamois, and gradually approaching the dangerous point where she hung.

Any efforts on this man's part seemed to her impossible. There was not a single visible gap or crevice in the face of the steep rock by means of which he could scramble up to her; and how could he help her, how could he liberate her, if he did manage to get at her?

Nevertheless the man drew nearer and nearer. She could by this time make out his goatskin cloak, his high broad cap, the clean shaved face peculiar to the mountain goatherds. His dexterity was as astonishing as the physical strength, with which he often raised himself on the tips of his toes in order to reach a cleft in the rocks, scarcely visible high above his head; often he could scarce hold on by the tips of his fingers, yet the next moment he would swing himself up with half a hand and, setting his foot in the cleft, look about for a fresh foothold.

About a yard below Henrietta was a projecting piece of rock just large enough for a man's foot to stand upon. The next moment Henrietta saw the herdsman mount to this place. He himself was a good fathom in height and his head reached up as far as Henrietta's hips. He looked up at her with a friendly smile, as if he had merely come there to help her down from her horse. Then he said to her in Roumanian: "Noroc bun Domna!" which means "Good luck to you, my lady!" So even in this perilous situation it occurred to him to say something pleasant.

"The horse took a false step, my lady," said he, "but all's well that ends well. Prithee, mount upon my shoulder, this bush will not hold fast much longer, it is only a juniper, its roots are weak." Henrietta's heart failed her. This man surely does not imagine that he will be able to carry her down on his shoulders.

"Come, my lady, don't be afraid, I can easily carry you down. Why I often roam about like this after my kids when they fall into the precipice; and you are no heavier than a young kid, I'm sure."

And then, with the hand that remained free, he plucked at the remainder of the damaged bush. Henrietta perceived with astonishment that the roots which had not snapped asunder beneath his weight were loosened from the rock by the mere tug of the man's hand. But what was he going to do with them?

The herdsman bade the lady fear nothing; no further accident could happen, he said; then, sticking the torn out stump between his legs like a hobby-horse and pressing it against the rock with one hand, he himself turned his back to the mountain-side and suddenly, stretching his legs wide apart, let himself glide down the shelving rock.

Henrietta shrieked aloud, she thought she was lost, but the next moment the herdsman stood on solid ground and looked up at her with a smile: "We're all right, you see," he cried. "Oh, I have travelled like this many a time; it is rare fun,—sledging I call it."

Sledging indeed!—to plunge down a steep mountain side five fathoms deep with the aid of a juniper bush!

From where they now stood it was an easy matter to convey the lady to the bottom of the precipice, which was overgrown with bright grass, on which he deposited her.

"There you are, my lady," said he. "Don't be frightened; I will soon be back again."

And with that he scrambled up again towards the wedged-in horse. Henrietta gazed after him in amazement—whatever was he going to do there?

The fellow, on reaching the wriggling horse, first of all caught firm hold of its front legs and then tied all four legs tightly together with the stirrup-straps. Thereupon, he seized the beast by his fettered legs, pulled them over his shoulders, and with a violent jerk freed the animal from its uncomfortable position and carried it down into the valley likewise. There he untied its legs, helped it on to its hoofs again, and, turning with a smile to Henrietta, said: "A fine horse that; it would have been a shame to have let it come to grief!"

"And you were able to carry it on your shoulders?" gasped Henrietta.

"That isn't very much. It scarce weighs more than four hundredweight. The bear not long ago weighed five, and I had to beat it to death before I could take it home. Surely your ladyship knows that I am the strong Juon—Juon Tare?" And the goatherd said this with as much self-evident pride, as if everyone in the wide world had heard that strong Juon dwelt among these forests. Henrietta's look of surprise apprised him, however, that she, at least, had never heard of him.

"You do not know then, Domna, who I am? Yet I know who you are. I have often met the Dumnye Barbatu[21] and he knows me well. He is the only man in the world who is as strong as I am. We have often wrestled together on this grass-plot for a wager. Neither of us has ever been able to throw the other. His lordship can throw an axe deeper into a tree than I can, but I can put a greater weight. His lordship can kill an ox with a blow from his fist, but I can throttle a bear to death. But we cannot overcome each other, though we have often stood up together—only in joke, only in sport, of course, your ladyship. It would not be well if we encountered each other in our wrath—that would be terrible."

[Footnote 21: My lord, your husband.]

All the time he spoke Juon was skilfully mending the torn saddle-girths and the bridle; then he re-saddled the horse, which was still trembling in every limb, wiped the bloody foam from its mouth, washed its sores and encouraged the lady to remount. In a quarter of an hour, he said, they would meet the road again, and in half an hour they would be at Hidvar.

Then the goatherd, who was well acquainted with all the meanderings of the valley, took the horse's rein and conducted the lady to the mountain pass, where the beaten track began again. There he kissed her hand and parted from her.

"I must now go back," said he, "for they are waiting for me."

"Who?"

"My goats and my wife."

"Then you have a wife? Do you love her?"

"Love her?" cried the herdsman proudly,—and then he added in a lower voice: "She is as beautiful as your ladyship!—Buna nopte, Domna!"[22]

[Footnote 22: Good night, my lady.]

And without waiting for an answer, he plunged back into the forest, disappearing by leaps and bounds.

When Henrietta got home she said not a word to anyone about what had taken place, though the condition of the horse and his harness sufficed to show that an accident had happened. But she could scarce wait for the morrow to come, bringing along with it Todor Ruban, from whom she meant to find out everything relating to Juon Tare.[23]

[Footnote 23: From the Roumanian Taria, strength, solidity.]



CHAPTER IX

THE GEINA MAID-MARKET

"Would your ladyship believe,"—so Todor[24] Ruban began his story of Juon the strong,—"sitting here as you do by the fireside, accustomed from your birth to every elegant luxury, with a particular servant always ready to fly obediently to accomplish each separate command, and with different glasses and porcelain for each several course at meals—would your ladyship believe, I ask, that there are people in this world who know not what it is to have a roof above their heads when they go to sleep, who would not recognize a bed or a dinner service if they saw them, nay, who often are in want of bread—and yet, for all that, are happy?

[Footnote 24: Theodore.]

"And yet such people live quite close to us. We need not think of the savage inhabitants of Oceania,—we can see enough of them and to spare in this very place. Your ladyship can hear from your balcony the melancholy songs of their pastoral flutes, especially of an evening, when the milch-goats are returning from the deep valleys.

"The herdsman here never sleeps beneath a roof either summer or winter; every spring he counts the goats of his master's herds and the half of every increase belongs to him; nobody enquires how he lives there among his herds in the lofty mountain-passes, how he defends himself against hurricanes and snow-storms, yes, and against the wild beasts of the forest, the bears and wolves—nobody troubles his head about all that.

"Such a goatherd is that same Juon whom your ladyship has learnt to know. Perhaps we shall hear something more about him some other time, for his life has been very romantic; now, however, I will only tell you of a single episode therein:

"There once lived near here in the district of Vlaskutza, a rich pakular[25] who had scraped together a lot of gold out of a mining venture at Verespatak, and therefore went by the name of wealthy Misule.

[Footnote 25: Roguish speculator.]

"He had an only daughter, Mariora by name,—and has your ladyship any idea of what Roumanian beauties are? A sculptor could not devise a nobler model. So beautiful was she that her fame had spread through the Hungarian plain as far as Arad, and whenever great folks from foreign lands came to see Gyenstar and Brivadia they would make a long circuit and come to Vlaskucza in order to rest at the house of old Misule, where the finest prospect of all was a look into the eyes of Mariora.

"This wonderously beautiful maiden loved the poor goatherd Juon, who possessed nothing in the world but his sheepskin pelisse and his alpenstock; him she loved and him alone. Wealthy old Misule would naturally have nothing to say to such a match; he had in his eye an influential friend of his, a gentleman and village elder in the county of Fehervar, one Gligor Tobicza,—to him he meant to give his daughter. Reports were spread that Juon was a wizard. It was Misule's wife who fastened this suspicion upon him, because he had succeeded in bewitching her daughter. She said among other things, that he understood the language of the brute beasts, that he had often been seen speaking with wolves and bears, and that when he spread out his shaggy sheepskin, he sat down at one end of it and a bear at the other. There was this much of truth in the tale, that once when he was tending his flocks Juon heard a painful groaning in the hollow of a rock, and, venturing in, perceived lying in one corner a she-bear who, mortally injured in some distant hunt, had contrived to drag its lacerated body hither to die. Beside the old she-bear lay a little suckling cub. The mother dying before his very eyes, Juon had compassion on the desolate cub, took it under his protection, and carried it to a milch-goat, who suckled it. The little wild beast thrived upon the milk of the tame animal and, softened by human fellowship, grew up much attached to its master. Bears, I may tell your ladyship, are not bloodthirsty by nature. Henceforth the bear went forth with the herdsman and the herds, helped to drive the goats together of an evening, and enlivened the long dreary days by turning somersaults—an art at which bears excel. At night it slept by Juon's side and made itself cosey by burying its snout in his bosom. When meal-time came, the bear sat down beside Juon, for he knew that every second slice of cheese would be his. He also fetched fire-wood to put under the pot in which the maize-pottage was boiling. Then, too, he explored the woods in search of wild honey and brought back his booty to share it with Juon. When it was very hot he carried his pelisse after him, a pelt more or less made very little difference to him. Juon had nobody to speak to but the bear, and if a man speaks quite seriously to the beasts they get to understand him at last. Moreover, in moments of ill temper the bear had learnt to recognize that Juon's fists were no less vigorous than his own paws, so that he had no temptation to be ungrateful.

"This, then, was the man beloved by Mariora.

"In our part of the country, my lady, there is an original popular custom, the maiden-market.

"In the highlands of Bihar stands the rocky bluff of Geina, which grows green, like every other Transylvanian height, as soon as it is cleansed from snow. There I first met Juon, many years ago. He stood there on the mountain summit the live-long day, blowing on his alpenstock, while the bear was plucking strawberries in the valley below and guarding the goats, not from running away, but from other wild beasts. The prospect from this spot is really sublime. In one direction you can see the mountain-chain of Vulcani, in the other the environs of Klausenberg and the Gyalian Alps. But westwards stretches the great Hungarian plain, whose misty expanse loses itself against the horizon.

"On a certain day of the year things are very lively at Geina. In the evening of the first Sunday after St. John Baptist's day the ginger-bread-bakers come thither from Rezbanya and Topanfalu with their horses dragging loads of honey-cakes, and barrels full of meal and brandy, and pitch their tents in the forest-clearing. On that Sunday the highlands are full of merry folks, and the maiden-market is held there.

"From near and far repair thither the mothers and their marriageable daughters, all tricked out with their dowries ready in the shape of strings of gold and silver coins round their necks, with bright variegated garments at their horses' sides, and stuffed pillows and painted pitchers on the saddles in front of them. All these things they unpack and arrange in rows in front of the tents, just as at an ordinary fair; and then the purchasers come along, jaunty, connubially-inclined young fellows, who inspect the dowries, engage the wenches in conversation, and chaffer and haggle and go away again if they cannot come to terms. Many of the girls are kept back, others are given up to the first bidder, and when once a couple is mated they are escorted to the tune of lively flutes and bagpipes to the first Kalugye,[26] or pastor, who sanctifies the union according to the religion of the spouses.

[Footnote 26: Or rather, Calugaru, monk, not pastor.]

"Your ladyship laughs at this custom, yet it is capable of a very natural explanation. The inhabitants of these Alpine regions live necessarily far away from one another—how else could they tend their herds?—even the nearest neighbours being a good stiff half hour's walk apart. So the young girls stay at home, and the young fellows only see them once a year—at the maiden-market of Geina.

"Now, of course such a famous beauty as Mariora had no need to go all the way to the Geina fair in search of a husband, especially as one had already been chosen for her who brought with him all the pride of riches. But her father Misule would not on any account have neglected the opportunity of exhibiting his daughter, during the pilgrimage to Geina, as the most lovely girl of the district; and his wife could not have lived unless she had hung out Mariora's gold-embroidered shift in front of the tent and haughtily sent at least ten suitors about their business.

"Gligor Tobicza, coming all the way from Rezpatak, appeared at the fair at the same time, with twelve high-backed horses and six Gipsy musicians, ribbons and coloured kerchiefs fluttering from every horse and every cap. The comrades drank together and then had a little rumpus also. Tobicza broke the heads of a few of the more uproarious spirits, and then peace was restored again, and the general good humour was higher than ever—only the bride remained sad.

"Suddenly it occurred to Tobicza that it would be nice to get a kiss from Mariora. But the girl repulsed him: 'I am not your wife yet,' she cried.

"'Yet if Juon were to ask for you, I suppose you would not say no?'

"The girl honestly confessed that she would not.

"At this Tobicza was mad with rage. 'Let him come hither then, if he loves you,' cried he, 'let him tear you away from me if he be the better man. I will strike him dead with this—see!' And drawing a long goat-skin bag out of his girdle, the bottom of which was choke full of ducats, and whirling it round his head like a morning-star[27] he turned forestwards and roared: 'Come hither, tattered Juon, thou ragged dog! 'Tis now maiden-market day if you want to buy Mariora! Come forth thou cowardly hound and let me beat you to death! I'll fell you to the earth with my ducats. I'll break your head with my gold money.' And the whole crowd laughed at and loudly applauded these witticisms.

[Footnote 27: A spiked club.]

"But just as he was raging most furiously, a great roaring suddenly arose from the direction of the forest,—whereupon the crowd rushed away from their tents to their horses, overturning barrels and trunks as they went, the women screaming and the men cursing, and all with one voice exclaiming: 'the bear is coming!' 'Juon is coming with his bear!'

"That was enough for every one. Only the most determined sportsmen care about tackling a bear in the open, for even when mortally wounded the beast is quite capable of taking his revenge. In an instant every soul rushed headlong from the summit of Geina into the roads below, leaving behind bride, dowry and drinking booth; so that when the bear and Juon leaped out of the juniper bushes there was nobody left on Geina. Nobody, that is, but Mariora, who did not fly with the fugitives, but hid herself in the tent.

"Tobicza had headed the race, but as his legs were heavy with the mead he had drunk, he threw away his big bag of gold to lighten his limbs and prevent Juon from overtaking him. But Juon, snatching it up, whirled it round like a sling and threw it with all his might after his rival, exclaiming: 'There's your money, big voice! take it and buy a wife with it. You are nothing at all without it. But I am still Juon, though I have only an axe in my hands.'

"Then he went up to Mariora, kissed and embraced her, and asked her if she would be his bride and go away and live with him in the forest. And when she said: 'Yes,' he kissed her again and took her with him into the free forest without once looking back at the dowry lying abandoned there with all its gold and glitter. In his eyes only Mariora was of gold, nothing else.

"The bear meanwhile made some little havoc in a mild sort of way, among the honey-cakes, but he did no other damage.

"And I can assure your ladyship that this wife who has nothing in the world but her husband, but that husband all her own—is even now very happy."



CHAPTER X

THE BLACK JEWELRY

It was during this time that Henrietta cherished the bizarre illusion that it was her vocation to cultivate the acquaintance of the honest but homely peasantry living around, in whose lowly circles a widowed protestant pastor's wife and a worn-out old miner were the principal personages. Her husband laughed good-humouredly at her vagaries, as he called them: "She is only a child," he cried, "let her play and cut out dolls' clothes for those who want them! When she has grown up, she will very soon look out for other diversions." "My dear child," he would sometimes say to her, "do exactly as you like. I only beg of you one thing: whenever you are tired of these innocent, well-meaning illusions and return to rough, prosaic, brutal reality; whenever you feel yourself deceived or wounded by those whom you may have implicitly trusted, pray recollect that you have a natural protector, a real friend—your husband!"

Thus it was that Hatszegi spoke to his child-wife on the rare occasions when they met together.

It was only rarely, for they saw nothing of each other for the greater part of the day. During the so-called honey-moon the husband and wife had scarcely spent half an hour a day in each other's company.

On one occasion the pastor went to Deva, and when he returned he had a lot to tell her ladyship of a fine young fellow, Szilard by name, who held the office of magistrate at Lippa. His other name he had forgotten, but Henrietta easily guessed it. Mr. Szilard had been very polite to him, the parson added, and had joyfully listened to all he had to tell him about Hidvar and its mistress; but when the priest had pressed him to pay a visit to that part of the country to see and admire its rare natural beauties, the young man had replied: "Anywhere in the world but there." What possible objection could he have against the district?

This piece of news gave Henrietta plenty to think about for days and nights together. So Szilard had not remained at Pest; he had followed her to the utmost confines of the realm; they were now quite close to each other and yet he would not see her. He seeks her out and avoids her at the same time. What a romantic dreamer!

And yet there was nothing romantic in it after all. Szilard had come to Arad county on a visit to Mr. Sipos's relations; he had been elected a magistrate there, and he did not approach Hidvar because he had no desire to run after a former sweetheart who was now another man's wife. As for Henrietta she had long ago earned from her husband's friends the name of the "little nun," the "little eremite" because nothing could entice her from her seclusion. If only they had known her thoughts!

One day, however, she surprised her husband by expressing a wish to go to the Charity Ball at a neighbouring mining town; it was for raising funds to build up again a burnt-down village.

Hatszegi, always courteous, bowed and consented.

Henrietta had made up her mind to go as simply dressed as possible. She wanted to be modest and humble, as it befitted a woman who, rich herself, envied everyone who was poor. While she was still in the midst of her preparations, she received through the post (Margari went to the nearest post-office once a week) a little sealed packet which, to judge from the postmark, must have been posted at Lippa. Before breaking it open, she locked herself in her room, like one about to commit a capital offence, and three times examined the seals which guarded it before she ventured to open it. The seal bore the impress not of a crest or an initial letter as usual, but of a single star. There could be no doubt whatever now as to who the sender was.

Then, very cautiously, she broke the seals and opened with a beating heart the lid of the box. Inside was a little morocco casket.

With a tremulous hand she opened it, and found inside it a pair of earrings and a brooch. Both earrings and brooch were of oxydized silver, dark blue in colour passing insensibly into black. The pendants of the earrings were in the shape of little fishes hanging upon little hooks and with mobile little scales, which at the slightest movement made them seem alive. Each of them had a pair of very tiny but very brilliant diamond eyes. The brooch on the other hand represented a butterfly, also with two sparkling diamond eyes; one of them was blue, a rare colour for a diamond.

Henrietta was indeed pleasantly surprised.

There was not a line of writing along with them, but was there any necessity for it? How simple, how nice it all was! How well he must know her taste who had selected it! Her husband could never have hit upon such an idea.

What should she say to her husband if he should notice them? But why should she show them to anybody? She would not even put them on till the last moment, just before she started on her journey. All day long she was as happy as a child who is going to its first party; even in her husband's presence she could not control her delight.

But Hatszegi never enquired why she was so joyous. On the day before the entertainment he went with his wife to the town in question, where he owned, not the castle, it is true, but a comfortable mansion of considerable extent, whose first floor was rented by a mining engineer and his family. These worthy people felt highly honoured at receiving the baron and his lady beneath their roof. They gave their distinguished guests their best rooms which looked out upon the street, and retired themselves to the back of the house. The mining engineer had a pretty young wife, with whom Henrietta immediately made friends. Ladies love the close companionship of their own sex best whenever something entirely different is occupying their thoughts.

On the morning of the great day the big-wigs of the little town hastened to pay their respects to the great lady who had arrived in their midst, and whose reputation for benevolence had spread far and wide. Amongst them was an aged woman whose hands and head were continually shaking, and who almost collapsed with terror every time anybody accosted her unexpectedly. She was the widow of a Unitarian pastor, well to do, people said, and a large mining proprietor. Her nervous affection was due to a painful episode in her life. One night Fatia Negra and his band had broken into her house and played havoc there, and ever since she had been tremulous and easily terror-stricken. The old woman was delighted to see Henrietta, whom she called the guardian angel of the county, and she would not be content till she had seized Henrietta's little hands in her own trembling ones and raised them painfully to her lips.

At last the joyous evening arrived. Henrietta put on a very simple ball-dress, compared with which the dress of the mining engineer's wife was really luxurious. The black ornaments well became her attire, but the engineer's wife was astounded at the simplicity of the great lady's costume. She had now only one anxious moment to go through, the moment when her husband first saw the new ornaments. But this moment sped away without any catastrophe, although with much of heart throbbing. Hatszegi observed the jewels in the ears and round the neck of his bride and paid her the compliment of saying that they contrasted admirably with the snowy whiteness of her alabaster neck.

So no ill came of it after all.

When the time came, the baron's carriage drove up to the door and the ladies entered it. The baron himself was to come afterwards with the mining engineer when the empty carriage returned. In the meantime the baroness was entrusted to the care of the mining engineer's wife, who was one of the notabilities of the little town.

The ball was to take place in the large room of the chief inn of the place, and the baroness, on entering it, was surrounded by a crowd of admirers. The young wife felt that she was being made much of. She felt in the midst of all this homage and devotion as if she had been lifted up to Heaven, and her heart was full of gratitude. If he be here (and he must be here somewhere, hiding in the crowd, no doubt, in order not to excite attention) then he will be able to see from his hiding-place how pale the face of his old love is from sorrow—and yet how radiant because of the honour now shown to her.

But Szilard did not see her face at that moment. He was far away, never dreaming that anybody still thought of him. A surprise of quite another sort awaited Henrietta.

After she had twice walked round the room—there was a pause just then between two dances—she perceived sitting on a corner seat the old lady already alluded to, whose head and hands were always shaking so, and hastened up to her as to an old acquaintance.

The old pastor's wife, perceiving Henrietta, rose at first from her seat in order to meet her half way, but the next moment she fell back horror-stricken, at the same time stretching out both hands in front of her with widely-outspread fingers as if to ward her off. Henrietta, unable to explain this odd gesture, remained rooted to the spot with astonishment.

The old lady, still continuing to stretch out her trembling hands, now advanced towards her with tottering footsteps indeed, yet with flaming eyes. Everyone regarded the two women with amazement. There was a dead silence, and in the midst of this astonishment, in the midst of this silence, the old woman shrieked with a voice full of horror that turned everybody's blood cold: "Madame!—those jewels—on your neck—that black butterfly—'tis the very same—which on that fearful night—that accursed Fatia Negra—tore from my neck—those black earrings which he tore from my ears—one eye of the butterfly is a blue diamond!"

Henrietta felt as if the floor were slipping away from beneath her feet. She was wearing stolen jewels on her neck, and their former owner had recognized them!

She heard a hissing and a murmuring all around her. She gazed about her, possibly for a protector, and she perceived that she was standing alone in the midst of the room and that everyone recoiled from her, even her companion, and all eyes were fixed upon her. She had a feeling of being branded with red-hot irons as she stood there, dishonoured and unprotected in the midst of so many strangers, and over against her a terrible accuser who had the horrible right to ask her: "Madame, where did you get those stolen jewels?"—and she had nought to say to such a question.

At that moment a manly voice, which she at once recognized, rang out close beside her.

"Madame, give me your arm!—I bought those jewels for you at Paris. I will be responsible for them."

It was her husband. And with that, he strode up to his wife, seized her hand and, casting a glance at the surrounding throng, cried in a threatening voice to those closest to him: "Whoever dares to cast a disrespectful glance upon my wife, will have to reckon with me. Make room there!"

Henrietta saw how the crowd made way, how everyone stepped aside at this word of command; she saw even the shaking widow sit down somewhere; but then everything began to grow black before her eyes and she sank swooning into the arms of the man whom, hitherto, she had hated so much, and who in this most awful moment had been her sole deliverer! When she came to again, she found herself in the carriage. Her husband had not stayed a single instant longer in that town, but was conveying her, though it was now night time, straight to Hidvar.

It is not very advisable to travel in pitch-black darkness along mountain roads. Henrietta could gather from the slow jolting of the coach that they were proceeding very cautiously. She opened the window and peeped out. She then saw her husband walking along by the side of the coach with a lantern in his hand picking his way. The coachman was sitting on the box and the heyduke was close to the carriage in order to steady it over the more difficult places.

A voice within her reproached her for hating this man so long—how could she have done it? He had always been delicacy itself towards her, he had never demanded anything of her, and no doubt the reason why he had held back from his young wife for a time was because he would not importune her with his presence—her who had now learnt to recognize him as her sole protector!

After a vast amount of jolting and tumbling about, they got at last on to a regular road again. Here the baron halted the coach and looked inside it. When he saw that Henrietta was awake, he asked her if she wanted anything, and whether she would allow him to sit down beside her.

Henrietta had resolved to tell her husband everything at the very first question, everything, even to her most secret enthusiasms; nay, even that which God alone could read in her heart. But Hatszegi gave her no opportunity of doing so.

"My dear Henrietta," said he, "don't imagine for a moment that I shall trouble my head as to how you came into possession of that mysterious jewelry, or why you should have chosen them out of all your bijous to wear on this particular evening. I have charged myself with all the responsibility in the matter. I could not think of anything more appropriate to say at the moment. Only one thing I beg of you: tell me no lies. Act as if you had received the jewelry from me. I will so arrange the matter that nothing more will be heard about it. Such things may happen to anybody. The only awkwardness about the business is that the things were recognized in such a public place, and that the former possessor of the ornaments is so extremely nervous. Don't be afraid! Give me your hand! Why do you tremble so? I'll guarantee that there shall be no unpleasant consequences for you. In case, however, you did not receive this jewelry from your dear grandfather, I ought, I think, to write to the good old man and put his mind at ease by letting him know that I gave it you, as goodness only knows what Rumour may whisper in his ear."

Could any man have asked his wife for a confession more tenderly?

"Shall I write to him?"

"Yes, write," said Henrietta, and with that she fell upon her husband's bosom and began to sob bitterly—and a husband's breast is no bad place for a wife's flowing tears.

Henrietta was forced to confess to herself that her husband, at least so far as she was concerned, was a man of noble and tender sentiments. From henceforth she began to regard him through a glass of quite another colour; she began to believe that the faults she had noticed in him were only the usual bad habits of his sex, and began to discover all sorts of hidden good qualities in him. She began to love her husband.

When early next morning the carriage stood in the courtyard of Hidvar. Henrietta awoke in her husband's arms: there she had been sleeping for a long time. When she looked round and encountered Hatszegi's bright manly glances it almost seemed to her as if the dreadful scene of the night before was a mere dream, from which it was a joy to awake. When her husband kissed her hand before departing for his own room, Henrietta pressed his hand in return and gave him a grateful smile.

But what then was the key to this horrible mystery? Who could have hit upon the idea of sending this jewelry? There was not a gleam of light to go by. An enigma closed the way to every elucidation, and this enigma was—Fatia Negra. How did the jewelry get out of his hands into Henrietta's? What was the motive for such a transfer? And who was the man himself? This thought gave Henrietta no rest.

Why could they not seize this famous robber? First of all, she kept on asking her husband about it, and he replied that the whole story about Fatia Negra was only a Wallachian fable. It was true that robberies were committed by men who regularly wore black masks, but it was never one and the same man who was guilty of these misdeeds. Nevertheless the name had won a sort of nimbus of notoriety among the common people, many had made use of it as well as of the mask attaching to it, and though it was an undeniable fact that Fatia Negra had been caught and hanged more than once, yet he still continued to live and go about. The popular mythology had immortalized him.

The parson, however, had quite a different opinion of the matter; he seemed to be more particularly informed. Although he opined Fatia Negra wandered through every corner of the kingdom, his abiding nest was in this district; he had a sweetheart here to whom he appeared periodically.

"Why don't they seize him then?" asked Henrietta.

"Because a part of the common folks holds with him, and the other part thinks he is in league with the devil."

"I would set a high price on his head and give it to whomsoever caught him."

"Oh, my lady, the various counties have done that scores of times, and now and then a young fellow braver than the rest has tried to catch him; but they have all of them ended by losing their own heads instead of getting his."

"Never mind, I will not be satisfied till that man is in my power. Ah, the robber-chieftain little imagines what an enemy he has raised up against him in me, when he put this terrible riddle into my heart. And it is a riddle I mean to solve, too."

The priest shook his head as if he would have said: "Strong men have given up the task, what can a weak woman do?"

Henrietta told her husband not a word of all this, and the chatter about the black jewelry gradually died a natural death. Hatszegi sent back her property to the widow and told her where she could find the vendor—in Paris. We can readily imagine that she did not go all the way to Paris to make enquiries, being quite content with getting back her stolen property.

This incident made such an impression on Henrietta that she avoided all those circles in which she had been so ruthlessly exposed to insult. A blush of shame and anger suffused her face whenever she thought of it. She also abandoned all her work of benevolence among the people. She began to think that her husband was right after all when he said, as he did continually: "Let the gentry stick to the gentry, and the poor to the poor!" In fact she was now inclined to think him right in everything; the easiest thing a wife can do, she said to herself, is to trust her husband implicitly. Henceforth Henrietta adopted another mode of life; her motto now was: "Whatever my husband chooses, for at home he is my lord!"

So the halls of Hidvar overflowed with guests again, and balls, soirees, and picnics followed each other in quick succession. The young wife learnt to know the gentry and magnates of Transylvania face to face, and it was no wonder if she quickly accommodated herself to her new surroundings and began to be reconciled to her fate. She felt like one who, after seeing a landscape by moonlight and thinking it highly crude, sees it again by the light of day and finds it quite different.

And now the autumn came, the season when men prepare and congregate together for dangerous hunting expeditions. Bears and boars are now the only topics. For a week beforehand the women cannot get a word out of the gentlemen, they herd together in the armoury and talk of nothing but guns and dogs, firing each other by recounting their past exploits, making bets, and playing at cards. The ladies at such times are shelved altogether.

During the actual hunting season the men are not to be seen for whole weeks at a time, but off they go to the woods and stalk or lurk for their prey in the midst of water and ice, and the ladies think it nothing extraordinary if their husbands or lovers, as the case may be, come back, or are carried back, drenched with rain, invisible for mud, with their garments torn to shreds and their limbs mangled; for after all it is the only manly diversion—the only diversion really fit for a gentleman.

When the bear-hunting began, that heroic cripple, Squire Gerzson, also appeared with Count Kengyelesy and numerous other familiar faces from distant counties, who had all met together on the day after Henrietta's wedding, and who regularly made Hidvar their autumn trysting-place.

Count Kengyelesy did not bring his wife with him: the little rogue on her husband's departure declared that she was ill and remained behind—verbum sap!

Henrietta was very much occupied by the duties of hospitality. She took a pride in anticipating the wants of all her guests, and at the evening soirees she played the part of hostess with becoming aplomb.

One day the gentlemen with their beaters, rangers, dogs, and carts, had all gone off to the forest as usual, and Henrietta was left alone in the castle with Clementina, Margari, and the domestics. As for Margari, he would not have gone to the woods for all the bears in the world.

Clementina, solemnly cackling gossip as usual, imparted to Henrietta that the night before, when the gentlemen played at cards, the luck had run dead against Hatszegi: Count Kengyelesy had won back from him the whole of the Kengyelesy estate. "Thank God!" sighed Henrietta at this glad intelligence. This was one of the things that had weighed down her heart like a nightmare, one of the partition-walls, so to speak, which had hitherto separated her from her husband. This, at any rate, had now disappeared.

Clementina went on to say that my lord baron had not cared a straw for this loss; nay, he had laughed and said that it only showed how lucky he was in love. Henrietta applied the saying to herself and began to be quite proud of it.

The count, however, pursued Clementina, had said that he durst not rejoice in his winnings or that accursed Fatia Negra might rob him of them again on the highroad as he had done once before.

A cold shudder ran through Henrietta's limbs at that accursed name. That Fatia Negra! She had already begun to forget him. And thus old memories began to revive, and at last her excited imagination began to fancy that there was some sort of connecting link between Szilard and Fatia Negra, between the dearest and the most terrible of beings! What if her rejected lover had avenged himself by publicly shaming her! It was with such anxieties as these that the young wife went to sleep in her lonely chamber.

Early next day she received a visit from the priest.

All the time the army of guests was going in and out of the castle gates, he never came near the place, but now he hastened to exchange a few words with the lady of the house. And Henrietta was very glad that he had come.

"I bring you news of Fatia Negra and of other things also," said the priest, as soon as he was alone with the lady.

Henrietta was instantly all attention.

"Yesterday the famous butterwoman who dwells at Dupe Piatra came to open her soul to me in a very difficult matter. This woman, as the whole country-side knows, is a famous quack and a preparer of such specifics as it is unlawful for one man to give to another. Formerly she was visited by multitudes of people suffering from every sort of ill—especially girls. More than once she has paid dearly for her quackery, for the county authorities apprehended her for poisoning, and clapped her into jail for some years. Since then she has grown more cautious and does not care about seeing everyone in her lonely little forest hut, especially since I impressed upon her severely what a heavy load she was burdening her conscience with by turning the secret healing forces which Nature had implanted in the herbs of the field, to the destruction of ignorant humanity. Yesterday, then, this woman came to me (and it is a very rare thing to see her among men) and informed me that last night Fatia Negra had visited her."

Henrietta shuddered all over. So he was as near as that!

"The medicine-woman said that the mask requested her to prepare poison for him that would be sure to kill. She said she would not as she had no wish to fall again into the hands of the county authorities. He promised her money, he showed her a lot of ducats. She told him it wouldn't do. Then he drew forth a pistol, pressed the barrel to her temples, and threatened instantly to blow her brains out if she did not comply with his request. 'Very well,' said she, 'fire away: I would rather be shot than hanged.' Perceiving he could do nothing with her by threats, he fell to entreating, and said it was not a man he wanted to poison but a wild beast. 'What sort of a beast do you want to kill?' she asked him. 'That is no business of yours,' said he. 'But it is my business,' she replied, 'for the poison that a wolf or a savage dog will eat, a bear will not even sniff at, and what makes one beast ill, on that will another beast thrive.' 'Then you must know that it is a bear.'—'Swear that you do not want the venom for a human being.' Fatia Negra swore with all sorts of subterranean oaths that it was really for a bear that he wanted the poison. The medicine-woman thereupon prepared for him a mortal concoction capable of killing the most vigorous beast in the world; then she kneaded honey-cakes, a delicacy to which bears are very partial as everyone knows, and mixed it well into them. Fatia Negra gave her ten ducats for the poison, but the old woman's conscience would not allow her to rest, and the next day she brought the ducats to me for the church's needs, as she put it,—and would I help her to relieve her soul of the heavy burden which oppressed it. And what now if Fatia Negra, contrary to his oath, were to make use of this poison against his fellow-men?"

"That would be horrible," said Henrietta apprehensively.

"I don't think he will," said the priest; "the poison is really meant for a beast."

"I suppose he wants to kill some animal who is a domestic guardian, in order that he may rob a rich man's house."

"No. He wants to kill a faithful animal in order that he may steal a poor man's only treasure—his wife."

"How so?"

"Listen, my lady, and I will tell you. After this had happened, Juon Tare's wife, Mariora, came to me at an unusual hour. Generally she only comes on a Sunday for prayers. What she said to me was not so much a confession made to a priest as a confidence reposed in a friend; I am therefore not committing sacrilege by retailing it to another person. That young woman is exposed to temptation."

"What! in the midst of the forest?"

"Yes, in the midst of the forest, where, for weeks at a stretch, the herdsman hears no other human voice than his own thrown back to him by the echoes. The seducer in this case is Fatia Negra."

"Then he must dwell hard by."

"None knows his abiding dwelling, but his temporary resting places among the high Alps are these herdsmen's lonely huts. For this reason he lives in good fellowship with the mountain goatherds, does them no harm, brings presents for them and their wives, pays handsomely for every bit of bread, and thus makes it pretty sure that they will never betray him. The place where Juon Tare's wife dwells is called the ice valley. They call it so because it is here that the first ice of the winter appears; as early as mid-September the stream is fringed with it. There, by the side of the stream, stands a little wooden hut, one of whose walls reposes on the ascending rock behind it. Here dwells the fair Mariora all alone. And yet I am wrong to say alone, for three of them dwell together there—herself, a little one-year-old child, and a tame bear. Her husband she sometimes does not see for a week at a time, especially in the autumn and winter when the freshly fallen snow has obliterated the pastures. At such times the goatherd encamps on the summit of the mountains and nourishes his kids by felling with his axe a growing beech-tree, on which the little creatures fall and gnaw off the juicy buds. Whenever a snowstorm overtakes him, the herdsman drives the goats into a glen, and lest the snow should bury them all by the morning while they sleep, he drives them continually up and down, thus making them trample down the falling flakes. Meanwhile Mariora sits at home and spins the wool from which she makes her own and her husband's clothes, or she pounds maize into meal in a stone mortar for household needs, playing at intervals with her child."

"And an evil hand would destroy their simple joys!"

"Hitherto the goatherd and his wife feared nothing. It is good to be in those solitudes. God dwells very near to them there. Then, too, Juon Tare is a strong man; no evil beast can harm him. Nor has he any fear of robbers. What can they deprive him of? Mariora is in a good place out of the reach of snow-storms. If a savage beast or a vagabond were to try to harm her, there is Ursu, the bear, with the terrible jaws,—he would tear them to pieces. So your ladyship will perceive that Juon Tare's castle is provided with a very strong guardian against thieves and wild beasts—but who can guard it against the wily and the insinuating? Fatia Negra is a guest of longstanding at the hut in the ice valley, and never goes thither empty handed. He brought the woman pearls and coral which she innocently hung about her person. How was she to know whether such trinkets were worth thousands or whether they could be bought in a pedler's booth for a few pence? She fancies it is but the thank-offering of a grateful guest. But now her eyes have been opened to the fact that these gifts are costly, very costly,—for the Black Mask demanded a price for them which all the treasures in the world could not outweigh, a price, the bare mention of which caused her to shut the door in his face. And when he, unable to obtain his desire by fair words, attempted to gain his object by force, a single cry for help from the woman caused Fatia Negra to feel Ursu's paws on his shoulders and so he knows that this lonely woman is right well defended. Only at Mariora's command did the bear release Black Mask who, attacked from behind, was unable to defend himself. Burning with rage, he quitted the hut and said, meaningly to the woman: 'You shall be mine nevertheless!' Mariora came to me next day, full of despair, telling me the whole story, and asking me whether she ought to tell her husband. I advised her to keep the secret in her own bosom and to close her door against Fatia Negra. Oh, I know the fellow! It is good to guard against him but it is not advisable to scratch him. He is no ordinary man. And now putting together all this with the confession of the Dupe Piatra milk-woman, I have a strong suspicion that Fatia Negra wants to poison the herdsman's bear."

"I will not allow it," interrupted the baroness emphatically.

"We shall scarcely be able to prevent it, my lady, for how can we warn the dwellers in the mountain hut of their danger? It is of no use sending a letter for they cannot read. We cannot entrust the secret to anyone, for no living soul in these parts would dare to convey any message to the disadvantage of the mysterious Fatia Negra. I myself dare not do it. I too am afraid of him. I am sure that if he found it out, and he is sure to do so, my days would be numbered."

"Yet I know someone who will take this message to the hut of Juon Tare."

"Not your ladyship, I hope?"

"No. Even if I knew my way among these mountains I would not venture to expose myself to the perils of such a journey after my last experience; since then I have grown timid and nervous. But I know of one who will hasten to take it, who will not be afraid, and who will show no mercy to him before whom everyone else trembles."

The priest did not guess to whom Henrietta alluded, yet he himself had once told her ladyship that Black Mask had a sweetheart to whom he had been married, not before a priest indeed, but in the sight of Heaven, and that this woman was very jealous and very brave. "But I beg of your ladyship," the priest had said on that occasion, "to leave my name out of the transaction if you repeat this secret, for otherwise, people will hear one fine morning that the worthy pastor of Hidvar has been found in his room with a split skull."

Scarcely had the priest quitted the castle than Henrietta had the horses put to the carriage, took Clementina with her in order to avoid all suspicion, and drove to Toekefalu. There, in front of the house of rich old Onucz she stopped and descended. The Wallachian Nabob was much pleased to have the honour of entertaining so distinguished a guest, and immediately spread his table and loaded it with preserves, honey, and fresh cheese. Clementina, who had a good appetite, remained with their host and made ready to talk scandal of her mistress and insinuate that the baroness wanted to get some money without her husband's knowledge, whilst Henrietta locked herself up with Anicza in the latter's bedroom and talked with her concerning things which had no relationship whatever with money.



CHAPTER XI

TWO TALES, OF WHICH ONLY ONE IS TRUE

After a couple of days the whole hunting party returned from the mountains. This was much sooner than they had determined, and the cause was a very serious accident which had befallen Baron Hatszegi. They brought him home in an ambulance car to Henrietta's great consternation. The baroness, sitting by the bedside, heard from the doctor that her husband's wounds were serious, but that his life was not in danger, and that he might even be allowed to smoke a cigar if he liked. Then Mr. Gerzson related how it had happened: "Only imagine, your ladyship! This irrepressible friend of ours, not content with pursuing game all day through the thickets, learns, late in the evening, that a gigantic old bear was trotting towards the ice valley, and, without saying a word to anybody, must needs leave the company and set off alone, late at night, on the track, with only a double-barrelled musket and not so much as a dog to keep him company. The bear enticed Leonard further and further. At last down he squats before him in the bright moonlight and begins licking his paws; then suddenly quits the path and disappears. Leonard thought at first that the bear had returned within the deadly circle drawn for him by our beaters, till, all at once, on reaching a steep slope covered with reeds, he again heard a growling and perceived the savage beast trying to scale the slope. The place was too steep for a man to climb, but a bear with the help of his long strong claws can scale it like a fly climbing up a wall. Leonard soon saw that he would be unable to get a close shot at the bear, so he resolved to fire down from where he was at random. But the experienced old brute, guessing this good idea, instantly executed one of those surprising feats which only fall within the observation of veteran hunters. While Leonard was taking aim, the bear rolled rapidly down the steep incline by means of a series of clever somersaults and rushed upon Leonard with a sort of swift shamble. And a cursed bad manoeuvre it is, I can tell you. The acrobatic beast, whether a man hits it or not inevitably bears down the hunter by his sheer weight, and as a man's bones are more brittle than a beast's, and he has no tough pelt to cover him withal, he will be infallibly crushed to pulp,—while the bear takes the whole thing as a mere joke and ambles on further. But the whole affair did not last half as long as I take to tell it. Leonard had just time enough to fling himself on the ground before the first rush came. Then he felt a heavy body fall prone upon him and then they began to roll over and over in company among all sorts of stones and bushes, till a benevolent rock interrupted their rapid descent. Fortunately the bear was underneath and lay stunned at full length upon the ground. Our friend Leonard naturally did not wait for his travelling companions to pick him up. He had lost his musket and it was a good job that his hunting-knife had snapped off close at the hilt instead of running into his body; then, too, his knees and elbows were badly crushed, yet he had sufficient strength and presence of mind to drag himself back to our hunting box, and his story was a very pleasant surprise for us, I can tell you. At first, indeed, we were much alarmed, and fancied that every bone in his body was out of joint, but now we can look on it merely as soldiers' luck. To-morrow he'll be up no doubt, and the day after to-morrow we shall all be dancing."

Henrietta had never removed her eyes from her husband's face during this narration, and it was plain from his looks that he was not proud of his adventure and did not want it talked about. "Why do you frighten my wife to death?" he said. "It is a mere trifle. Let me remain for a whole night in cold wet wraps, and to-morrow I shall be all right. And now, enough of the stupid business. And will you please, Henrietta, look after my guests while I lie here in swaddling bands? All I want is a couple of days of rest and then I shall be on my legs again."

Towards midnight Henrietta disappeared from among her guests and went to enquire after Leonard; but she found his chamber door locked, and received no answer to her gentle enquiries, from which she gathered that Leonard was still dozing. She did not want to disturb him, and as her husband's guests, judging by the noise they made, had evidently begun to amuse themselves in real earnest after her departure, she did not return to them, but hastened to her own chamber.