How amazed was she to find Anicza there closeted with Clementina!

The Roumanian girl had been awaiting Henrietta for some time, and Clementina thought it quite natural to conduct her into her mistress's sleeping-room, imagining that there was some monetary transaction between them, of which the baron and the domestics need know nothing. In order that she might not be bored by waiting, Clementina entertained her for a whole hour with a hair-raising account of the hunting accident, with which the whole castle was full. Anicza let the other talk on without so much as a hint that she had a still more hair-raising and terrific tale to tell of the night just past than ever Miss Clementina had.

As soon as Henrietta perceived Anicza, she politely requested Clementina to be so good as to leave them to themselves, a request which Clementina very naturally regarded as incomprehensible; and, of course, the instant she had crossed the threshold, she diligently took up her position before the keyhole. She was, however, furious to discover that Henrietta proceeded, more prudently than speakers on the stage who regularly allow themselves to be overheard by eaves-droppers, for she drew together the heavy damask curtains of the alcove and retired behind them with Anicza, so that neither prying eyes nor listening ears could find anything there to satisfy their inquisitiveness.

"It almost succeeded!" said the Roumanian girl impatiently, beginning her story at the end instead of at the beginning.

"Only almost?" repeated the dissatisfied Henrietta.

"So far the game is neither over nor lost."

"Did Fatia Negra appear at the hut in the ice valley?"

"Pardon, my lady, but please never mention that name before me, for on hearing it everything I look upon grows red, and every limb of my body begins to tremble. You see, my hands are trembling now. Let us speak of him in future as the Unknown; so far as I am concerned he shall henceforth be the Unknown for ever more."

"Then you met him there?"

"Suffer me, my lady, to rally my scattered wits a bit. Oh! what a horrible night this has been! When I look back upon it, I feel giddy. But anger and despair sustain me. Oh! what have I not sacrificed for that man, for that devil, and oh! how I have been betrayed! But why should I worry your ladyship with my misery! Listen to what happened. When your ladyship left me the other night, I immediately saddled my horse and set off for the ice valley. The way thither is very bad, dangerous in fact, but fortunately the moon was high and bright and made it easier for me to find the path. The Pole star was already sinking when I reached the bottom of the valley, and I could see from afar that there was a light still burning in the goatherd's little hut. The night owls soon drove it out of my eyes, for in that valley dwells so many owls, and they are so bold that the tips of their wings brush against people's faces as they sweep past. I had known Mariora for a long time, while she still lived at home with her father, but since she became Juon Tare's wife we have only seen each other occasionally and at long intervals, and then too only when I visited her, for she, the poorly-married woman, never came to visit us—the rich people. On reaching the hut, I tied up my horse and tapped at the little window, through which one cannot peep as, instead of glass, the window-frames are filled with opaque mica which Juon Tare himself discovered amongst the hills. Mariora recognized my voice and hastened to unbar the door. She was much surprised and much delighted to see me at that hour. She embraced, kissed me, and burst into tears. At first I thought it was from pure joy,—then I thought she pitied me. 'Is there anything wrong?' I asked. Then she pulled herself together, dried her tears and said: 'I have an invalid on my hands.'—'Your child?'—'No, Ursu.'—It was just as if a viper had stung me.—'Ursu sick?' I cried.—'Yes, I don't know what ails him. Since yesterday he has been lying down shaking and trembling, while the day before he was skipping about and turning somersaults. Fatia Negra (Domne Zeu,[28] forgive my lips for uttering that name) was playing with him for a long time.' 'Did he come hither?' 'Yes, he said he was on his way to you.' 'He lied. Then it was he who poisoned the bear.'

[Footnote 28: The Lord God.]

"Mariora trembled at these words, and grew paler than ever.

"I seized her by the hand and drew her with me into the hut. I whispered in her ear that I knew all. 'The accursed wretch has been faithless to me because of your pretty eyes. He swore to me by sunlight and he swore to you by moonlight, but you would not listen to him. You love your husband and Black Mask relies on his strength now that fair words have failed. The coward has poisoned your faithful guardian like the wretched thief, the miserable house-breaker, that he is.'—Mariora's hut was lighted by the flame that flickered on the hearth. A bedstead of linden-wood covered with goat-skins, a table of slate and a few three-legged chairs were all the furniture. There was also a nicely carved and painted little cradle in which lay the little child, sleeping, with his plump little hands drawn up behind his head, like an angel. In the extreme corner of the room the faithful beast lay all of a heap on a lair of soft moss,—at the last gasp. He groaned and shivered continually like one in a fever, and raised his failing eyes with such an eloquent appeal to his mistress, as if he would have spoken to her. Sometimes he pricked his ears as if he were listening and snuffed joyously. Perchance he expected his master, perhaps he wanted to lick his hands for the last time. Poor beast, how I pitied him! 'He will die,' I whispered to Mariora. I durst not say it aloud for I imagined the beast understood everything which men say to one another. 'And then will come the tempter, who knows that you are alone and defenceless.' I told her everything which your ladyship told me, and the woman trembled like an aspen-leaf.

"'Where is Juon Tare encamping now?' I asked Mariora.

"'Only a mile from here in the Vale Capra.'

"Hem! It is impossible to get there on horseback, but I can reach him by going on foot. Meanwhile you lock yourself in, put out the fire, and whatever noise you hear, do not open the door till we come back.

"'Nay,' said Mariora, 'you must not go away. If Juon ought to come home, there is a sign between us. I have here an Alpine horn; he has taught me how to blow upon it, and has told me that if ever I should be in great danger I must blow it, and however distant he may be, he will hear it and hasten home.'

"'But it is night now; perhaps he is asleep.'

"'Juon never sleeps at night, he must be awake and protect his herds.'

"'And what then will become of his goats if he leaves them?'

"'Are not I and my child dearer to him than all his property?'

"Then I told Mariora that no time must be lost, and that she should blow the horn at once. It is a long tube made out of the bark of trees, with the end tilted upwards, and anyone who knows how to blow it can make its voice heard for miles. Mariora was too feeble with it. Perhaps at another time she would have been more up to it, but now she was upset, there was something which weighed down her bosom and hampered her breathing: the horn gave forth but a feeble and uncertain sound. We listened for the echoes and they scarce resounded from the sides of the adjacent hills. Juon would never hear that. 'Give it to me,' I said. 'I shall throw more force into it.' A moment after I had blown the horn, the woody heights repeated the sound just as if there was another horn-blower there. Presently, from afar, right away among the hills, another horn replied, just as if there was another echo there. That was Juon's answer. He had heard the summons; we could now rest content. In half an hour he would have bounded across the mountains and through the glens and would be here. In the meantime we would barricade ourselves inside the hut. Mariora anxiously asked me what we should do if her husband were the last to arrive, for the robber had firearms. Acting on my advice, we closed the door with a heavy beam and put out the fire. The child began to cry, but Mariora took it in her arms and soothed it to sleep. A heavy groan sounded from a corner of the room: it was the faithful beast breathing forth his last breath. We exchanged not another word in order not to betray the fact that Mariora was not alone. Half an hour had nearly elapsed when we heard footsteps in the distance approaching. We listened. Who was coming? Which of us would recognize those footsteps first? I did. It was he! he for whose sake I had brought down a curse upon my head.

"For about as long a time as it would take one to repeat a Paternoster, he remained standing there before the door. Then he rapped lightly with his fingers and I heard the voice I knew so well: 'Mariora, are you asleep?'

"'I am awake. What do you want?' she replied.

"'Let me in, Mariora; open the door!'

"I whispered to her what she should say.

"'I cannot, my husband is not at home. I am alone.'

"'For that very reason open, so that we two may have it all to ourselves?'

"'There will be three of us, don't forget Ursu.'

"'It is all up with Ursu,' laughed the robber outside.

"'You have killed him, you villain!' cried Mariora though I never whispered this to her.

"'Not I, but the honey-cake.'

"'Why did you do so?'

"'Because he was in my way.'

"'Who will defend me now?'

"'I will defend you. I will take you away with me. I will take you to a beautiful city full of palaces. I will buy you a house and an estate and you shall be a great lady.'

"'It cannot be. I already have my lawful husband and you too have your lawful wife.'

"'Your lawful husband shall die when I choose, and you will then be a widow. As for Anicza, she only married a mask. I will tear it off and she will no longer know who I was.'

"Oh, my lady, can you not fancy how my heart broke at these words! Yet I did not weep.

"'You will deceive me as you deceived her,' replied Mariora.

"Then the robber began to swear that I had deceived him first. He lied concerning me, oh! the accursed wretch! Yet the game had to go on. Mariora was no longer the mistress of her own thoughts. She is a helpless creature. If I had not whispered in her ear what she was to say, she would have had no answer ready for him.

"'I fear you,' she said at my prompting, 'for you are a robber; it is not love but money that you want. Why did it not occur to you to court me before? You have only come now because you have found out that my father has been here and offered me a hundred ducats that we may buy a little estate with it. You have only come here to rob me of that.'

"The tempter grew furious at so much gainsaying.

"'Stupid wench!' he cried, 'what are your hundred ducats to me? I will give you ten times as much. Here! take them!' And with that he pitched through the little window—opening above the door a heavy purse which fell rattling at our feet. It was full of ducats. I kicked it aside with loathing.

"'It is easy to talk,' replied Mariora. 'Now, you give and give, but if I were to let you in, you would take them back again to-morrow with my own.'

"'I swear I will not.'

"'No, I will not believe the oaths of a robber. You have firearms and I am therefore defenceless against you. Go and hang up your musket, your pistols, and your hunting-knife on that beech-tree, which is a hundred paces distant from the house; when you come back without your firearms I will believe that you do not want to kill me and will listen to what you have to say?'

"The robber fell into the snare and did as he was bid. Then he returned. 'Here I am without weapons,' said he. 'Let me in!'

"We had to gain as much time as possible, so I whispered Mariora to say that she must first stir up the fire into a blaze for she could not let him in in the dark.

"These words inflamed the passion of the tempter still more.

"'You will have time for that afterwards,' said he. 'I can see your beautiful eyes even in the dark, for then they shine all the more brightly.'

"'Then I suppose I have eyes like a cat?' I made Mariora say.

"'Silly fool!' growled the tempter to himself in Hungarian, which Mariora did not understand. 'No,' he then added in Roumanian, 'you have eyes like stars.'

"'But confess now, do you really love me? Or do you only come hither with evil designs? Don't you want, now, to cut off the hands of my little child? for robbers covet the hacked off hands of babies,—they make them invisible.'

"At this the man's temper fairly gave way. He perceived that he was being trifled with and exclaimed roughly: 'Woman, open the door, or I'll bring it down about your ears!' And he gave the door such a blow with his clenched fist that it cracked from end to end. 'I tell you for the last time,' cried he, 'let me in peaceably. If you will come with me, I will take you, and your child also, to a pleasant place. I will make a gentleman of him and a lady of you. But if you gainsay me another moment, I'll batter in the door, dash the brains of your brat out against the wall and carry you off by force wherever I please.'

"Thereupon Mariora paid no more attention to me but began wringing her hands and I snatched up the child, who had been awakened by the noise and begun to cry. I drew my pistol from my bosom and planted myself beside the door. If there's nobody else, I thought, I must bear the brunt of it.

"The robber planted his shoulder against the door and pressed it inwards with tremendous force. The boards cracked and as the middle of the door was barricaded by a stout beam, there was soon a regular gap between the two folds of the door and the door inclined more and more inwards. Through the opening thus made, I held the pistol, pointed straight at his temples and only an inch away from him. He is a very strong man, I thought, but another effort of strength and he will be lying dead at my feet."

The girl was quite overcome by the narration of this scene. She paused for a moment to recover herself, during which Henrietta, as pale as a statue, gazed at her in silence.

Presently she resumed:

"At that critical moment, a cry like the howl of a wild beast resounded in front of the hut. The door fell back into its proper place and rushing to the little window, I saw that two men now stood in front of the hut.

"Juon Tare had arrived at last!

"It was neither speech nor language that he addressed to his antagonist in the first instant of their encounter, it was the savage roar of a wild beast rushing upon its prey.

"Juon Tare is a very strong man. Fortunately, he is also a peaceful, retiring creature, for if he were as passionate as he is strong and frequented the wine shops, every carouse would end with the death of a man. All the more horrible was it therefore to behold him at that moment like a ravening beast of prey.

"The detected seducer at once made a rush for his arms, but Juon Tare overtook him with an enormous bound and seized one of his hands. If Fatia Negra had been one of God's ordinary creatures, he must have been writhing the next moment with crushed limbs on the ground beneath Juon's knee; but at the very instant in which Juon caught hold of one hand, the robber faced about and seizing the herdsman round the body began to wrestle with him.

"The moon flooded the valley with its light; the whole course of the struggle was plainly visible.

"As soon as Juon Tare perceived that his antagonist was foolhardy enough to try a fall with him, he complacently allowed his body to be encircled and calmly murmured: 'Ho, ho! then you would wrestle with me, eh, Fatia Negra! Very well, be it so!'

"Then he also quietly encircled the trunk of his opponent with those terrible arms of his, which had shown themselves capable on one occasion of throttling a bear, and prepared to crush his adversary.

"And thus began an awful struggle, the mere remembrance of which is a horror.

"There is nothing more terrible than when two men struggle for life or death with their bare hands.

"Juon Tare's tremendous strength was unable to crush Fatia Negra. The herdsman might perhaps have been a little exhausted by his swift run, but the robber was skilful and opposed a steel-like elasticity to the herdsman's massive weight.

"Now the one, now the other was forced down upon his knee, only to bound instantly back again. The grass was rooted up by their stamping feet. Tightly embraced, with straining shoulders, with their fists tearing at each other's bodies, their faces were pressed so closely together that the two heads seemed but one.

"Now and then they would pause for an instant to take breath and at such times would gasp out short, fierce words.

"'Who are you?' growled Juon. 'Who are you that you can resist the arm of Juon Tare? Who are you that Juon Tare cannot put to silence?'

"'What is it you want, you fool?' the robber gasped back. 'Has that two hundred ducats, the price set on my head, tempted you? Is that why you want to catch me? Let me go, and I will give you five hundred.'

"'I will not let you go. I want neither your money, nor yet the money of the magistrates. Your destruction is all that I want. You should not escape from these hands if you were thrice a devil.'

"'We will see.'

"And again the tussle began. Each of the two men put forth all his strength against his adversary. Fatia Negra's garments split into rags, the blood spouted from his shoulders where Juon had worried him with his sharp teeth like a wild beast. Not another word did they now speak, only their panting sobs were to be heard like the snorting of two wild boars as they dragged and dashed each other up and down on the sward.

"I was obliged to restrain Mariora violently from rushing to her husband's assistance. She would only have distracted his attention. And besides I would not have it so. Let the men fight it out, I thought. They are a well matched pair."

"Then you still love Fatia Negra?" enquired Henrietta sadly.

The girl blushed.—"I love him, yes,—and therefore he must die."

She went on:

"'At that moment he was like a magician battling with a giant. The other was half a head taller than he, and the muscles of his arms stood out like the rugged bark of an oak's trunk. Black Mask was much the slimmer. But every muscle in his frame seemed made of steel. His gigantic adversary might pitch and toss him wherever he pleased, he always fell on his feet; nor was the other ever able, squeeze as he might, to disjoint his arms or free his own head from Fatia Negra's embrace, though again and again he ducked down to do it; and then they would struggle more fiercely than ever, on their knees, with their limbs interlaced like one single, inseparable quivering mass of flesh.

"'If I could only see your hidden face!' roared Juon, throwing himself with all his might on Black Mask. 'You devil, you, I'll tear your mummery off for you!'—and he gnashed at his opponent's face with his teeth, trying to snap his mask off.

"This attempt seemed to redouble Fatia Negra's fury. He too now began roaring like a wounded bear, struggling with a huntsman. It was no longer a struggle between men, but a ravening of two beasts. The combatants had now rolled far away from the hut. Their savage yells resounded through the still pastures. We, watching them from the hut, could see that they were drawing near the edge of a steep abyss with a sheer descent of many fathoms, at the bottom of which are the sources of the little mountain streams.

"'Take care, Juon!' cried Mariora despairingly. But her voice was unheard. Both of them were deaf and blind. The next moment Juon gave his adversary a fierce shake and instantly the pair of them plunged head over heels into the gulf below.

"We both rushed after them, and on reaching the edge of the abyss perceived one shape lying motionless among the rocks of the stream, and another limping painfully towards the further shore. This second figure was Fatia Negra."

"Surely Juon was not dead?" cried Henrietta, horrified.

"No; only crippled by the fall. He fell undermost, the other on top. Yet the other must have suffered severely. We could see from his heavy movements that he had more than one limb damaged. Only with the utmost exertion did he manage to scale the opposite cliff.

"While he was clambering up the mountain-side, Mariora sobbing and screaming, rushed down to her insensible husband, and taking his head into her bosom dragged his limp body out of the cold water of the brook, whilst I took down from the beech-tree Fatia Negra's double-barrelled musket and raised it to my cheek. Before me on the white rock, in the full light of the moon, a good mark for a marksman was that panting black object struggling upwards. I pointed the barrel straight at him. I took a long and careful aim. I am certain I should have hit him. And then I bethought me how much I had loved him once upon a time, and the weapon sank down. I flung it from me."

The girl ceased to speak and covered her face with both her hands. It was a long time before she took them away again.

At last she sprang up quickly, and turning her pale face towards Henrietta, said in a hard, dry voice: "It will be the last time, your ladyship. I am weak because I am a woman, folks would say. But they shall know that that is not true. Don't be afraid, my lady; what I have promised, that will I do. You have been very good to me in telling me that I was being deceived, and I will requite you for it. And now, God bless you, my lady. Farewell!"

"But surely you are not thinking of going home so late at night?"

"What care I about the night? No spectre can meet me anywhere that is worse than the horrible thing that dwells at the bottom of my heart. God bless your ladyship. You shall hear from me soon. Farewell!"

Then the girl gently kissed Henrietta's hand and left the room, throwing into her gait and bearing an energy and a self-confidence which she was far from feeling.



CHAPTER XII

THE SOIREES AT ARAD

Despite his misgivings, Count Kengyelesy succeeded in reaching his home at Arad without being robbed by Fatia Negra.

During the evenings of his visit at Hidvar he had won back everything which he had lost on the occasion of his friend Hatszegi's visit at Kengyelesy, and in the joy of his heart he gave his countess carte blanche in the matter of entertaining her friends and opened his halls freely to the elegant world of Arad.

For the society of Arad is distinctly elegant. Excepting Pest, there is no other place in Hungary where the aristocratic element is so strongly represented. Nay, it has this advantage over Pest that its society does not scatter as the seasons change. Such pleasure-resorts as Csako, Menes, Magyarat and Vilagos and the castles of the magnates residing on the circumjacent puszta are all of a heap, so to speak, around Arad; so that there is no occasion for acquaintances to separate in spring or autumn; wherefore to all those who would devote themselves uninterruptedly to social joys, Arad is a veritable Eldorado.

There was no need to offer the Countess Kengyelesy such an opportunity twice,—the very next day the round of visiting began. All the notabilities of the higher circles got themselves introduced to her ladyship by mutual friends, and the lesser fry, whom nobody knew, were introduced to her by the count himself. Amongst those who came from afar was a young man from Pest who had an official post in the county, a rare distinction in those days, who was much praised for his culture and who had spoken once or twice very sensibly at Quarter Sessions,—a certain Szilard Vamhidy. But what interested the ladies in the young man far more than his official orations was the rumour connecting his name with a romantic attachment he was said to have had with the daughter of a wealthy merchant of Pest. The young man, being disappointed in his love, had resolved to kill himself, and had persuaded the girl to do likewise at the same time. Only with difficulty had they been snatched from the threshold of death. Subsequently, on account of this very thing, the girl had been compelled to become the wife of the wealthy Hatszegi.

The countess quickly made up her mind that such a young man as this was an indispensable acquaintance. What! Henrietta's ideal, with whom she had been in love and who would have gladly embraced death with her! Here indeed was a rare species, especially in these modern days, which deserved to be exhibited; and she gave her husband no rest till he had promised to introduce the young man to her. To this end it was necessary that he should first of all make the young man's acquaintance himself, but this was an easy matter. The deputy Lord-lieutenant of the county knew them both and at his house they learnt to know each other. And Count Kengyelesy was one of those men whom it is impossible to avoid when once you have made his acquaintance. It was not very long, therefore, before he took his new friend, absolutely under his protection and hauled him off to his wife.

The usual stiffness of a first introduction was speedily broken down by the quaint conceits of the count.

The countess had donned a flowing antique moire dress and wore her hair in long English curls to match.

"Come now, friend Szilard!" cried the count, "what do you say? this dress and that coiffure hardly suit the countess's style of face—eh?"

Many a worthy young man would have been plunged into confusion by such a silly question, but our Szilard's eternally composed countenance was not ruffled for an instant.

"Everything becomes the countess," he replied; "but I know of something which is still more charming and would make any fair woman still more beautiful."

"Really! You make me quite curious," said the countess.

"Why, Szilard, you a connoisseur!—you surprise me!" cried the count.

"I mean those blue stuff gowns with white spots, which lend quite a peculiar charm to our women, especially if you set it off with an old-fashioned csipkekoeto."[29]

[Footnote 29: A Hungarian headdress made of black lace. The dress suggested was also of native Hungarian manufacture worn at one time by the greatest ladies.]

At the very next soiree the Countess Kengyelesy was attired in one of these blue stuff gowns with white spots, of home manufacture, and with a black lace head-dress—exactly as Szilard had described it to her.

"My dear friend, be so good as to look there!" said the count appropriating Szilard while he was still only half through the doorway. "There she is costumed from head to foot exactly as you advised. Ah! I pity you. You are already in the toils."

Szilard hastened at once to greet the countess, who treated the handsome young fellow with marked distinction all through the evening. Indeed she made no secret of it.

Three days later Szilard was bound, by custom to pay a complimentary visit upon the Countess. He purposely chose an hour when he knew she would not be at home, and left his card, but the same evening he encountered her at the theatre. It was in the entrance hall, where she was waiting for her carriage, and till it drove up Szilard could not very well leave her.

"Ah, ah! my honoured friend," cried the countess archly, "this won't do. You wait till I am not at home, and then you go and leave your card upon me as a token of respect. But I don't mean to let you off so easily. I have got a lot to say to you which I am determined you shall listen to. You must therefore promise to come to my house at twelve o'clock to-morrow, or else I shall astonish the world by inviting you to come along with me this instant in my carriage."

A man, in another mood, could scarcely have resisted the temptation of replying that he would be delighted if the countess put her threat into execution then and there, even at the risk of astonishing the world. Szilard merely looked grave and said that he would be happy to pay his respects to the countess at twelve on the morrow.

He went accordingly. His pulses beat no more quickly than usual as he entered the countess's private apartment, although she gave the footman to understand in a low voice that she would be at home to nobody else, and invited the young man to sit down close beside her, face to face.

The countess was a beautiful woman, and she possessed the art of dressing beautifully likewise. The countess had beautiful eyes and she could smile beautifully with them, too. The countess had an extremely pretty mouth, and when she spoke it was prettier still, for she had a witty way with her. The danger of the situation was very appreciable.

"My dear, good Szilard," began the countess, with that light, natural naivete which so easily disarms the strongest of us, "do not take it ill of me if I speak to you confidentially. The world will very soon be saying that you are in love with me and I with you. I shall not believe the former and you will not believe the latter. Let the world say what it likes. I have a real blessing of a husband, whom it would be a shame to offend, and you have quite other ideas. I know what they are. Don't be angry, don't frown! I am not exacting. I don't want to fetch you away from other people. I will not ask where you have buried your treasures. I will merely say to you that I know you have treasures and that they are buried. Is it not so? You need not be afraid of me."

Szilard was a little taken aback by this unexpected turn. Could it be sheer curiosity, he thought?

"I have nothing to be afraid of, countess," remarked Szilard, smiling, "I have no buried secrets. I was a young man once, that is all. I have had my foolish illusions, like other people, and like other people I have cured myself of them."

"Nay, nay, sir, now you are not quite sticking to the truth; you are not cured of them. But before I go any further let me tell you that all this is not mere feminine curiosity on my part. I want you to trust me and I will trust you equally. Believe me when I say that if I love to make fun of empty-headed noodles, I can always respect a good heart because it is a rarity. The lady I want to speak to you about is my dear friend and she is very, very unhappy."

Szilard was bound to believe that this was true, for tear-drops sparkled in the countess's eyes.

"Is it my fault?" he asked bitterly.

"It is neither your fault nor hers. I know that as a fact. The cause of it all is money, the thirst for money. There is not a more miserable creature in the wide world than the daughter of a rich man. But that is the least of her misfortunes. They married her to a man who did not love her, who only took her because her grandfather was a millionaire. Her grandfather frightened her into the match by threatening her with his curse and now, when she has become the wife of this man who does not even feel friendship for her, I hear that this same old grandfather has made another will depriving her of everything."

Szilard's lips trembled at these words.

"You can imagine what will be the result. This young woman loves not and is not loved. They gave her away to an Oriental nabob who, imagining his wife to be wealthy, scatters his money like a prince. And now this man has suddenly been startled by the report that his wife has absolutely nothing!—do you know the meaning of the expression: bread of charity?"

"I have heard the expression, but the bread itself I have never tasted."

"Then you can have no idea what that sort of bread is like which a man gives to the wife whom he finds to be poor, when he fancied her to be rich—oh! that sort of bread is very, very bitter!"

Ah! thought Szilard, the bread that I offered her was only dry—not bitter.

"I can tell you on very good authority," resumed the countess, "that the baron's conduct towards his wife has completely changed since he discovered that she has been disinherited. He had lost heavily at cards when the news first reached him, and he took no pains to conceal his ill-humour from his wife in consequence. The poor of the district had got to regard Henrietta as their ministering angel because of her labours of love among them, but now she can play the part of lady bountiful no longer. She has to shut her door in the faces of her poor petitioners, for her husband will not allow any unnecessary expense. Nay, more, they say that Hatszegi now keeps his wife's private jewels under lock and key to prevent her from pawning them and relieving the needs of the poor with the proceeds, as she was wont to do, and only brings them out on state occasions when he compels her to pile them all on her person. Isn't that a humiliation for a woman?"

"If only you had become mine," Szilard mentally apostrophized poor Henrietta, "you would now have had a cosey little chimney-corner, and a nice little room all to yourself; and though I could not have bought you jewels, the best of every morsel of food we shared together would always have been yours."

"And," pursued the countess, "most degrading experience of all, Hatszegi no longer attempts to conceal from his wife his outrageous liaisons with pretty peasant women. The thing has long been a byeword, though his wife knew nothing of it—but she knows it now. Nor is this all, my dear Vamhidy. Poor Henrietta's heart is suffering from another sorrow which she feels all the more keenly because it smarts unceasingly. Her young brother, Koloman, has suddenly disappeared from Pest and left no trace behind him. They say all sorts of things about him, which I do not care about telling you, but most of them are bad enough. On the news reaching Henrietta, she asked her husband to make enquiries as to the cause of Koloman's disappearance. Hatszegi wrote to his agent and received an answer which he will not show to Henrietta on any consideration; nay, more, he commanded his wife never to mention Koloman's name before him again. The poor woman is naturally in despair. She cannot conceive why the cause of her brother's disappearance should be hidden from her. And now I am coming to the end and aim of all this rigmarole. Henrietta believes, and I am likewise convinced of it, that if her brother be alive, there is only one person in the world whom he will try and seek out and that is yourself."

"Poor lad! he loved me much," sighed Szilard.

"And now you understand what I am driving at, don't you? If anybody can find out the whereabouts of Henrietta's brother and the real reason why he fled from his relations at Pest and took refuge neither with his aunt, Madame Langai, who, I hear, has taken his part all through, nor yet with his sister, it is most certainly you. This is no lawyer's business, for a lawyer would set about it too gingerly. Here sympathy and chivalry are before all other things necessary, and if the husband declines this noble task, we have nobody to turn to except—the man who has been sacrificed."

Szilard bit his lips to prevent the tears from coming. Who could ever have thought that so frivolous a woman would have had so much feeling for her friend? Then he rose, bowed and curtly informed the countess that he would undertake the commission.

The countess pressed his hand affectionately: "And keep me informed of everything," said she, "for I am the common post between you two."

Szilard thanked the countess and withdrew. He pondered the matter carefully till the evening, and by that time he had a plan all ready in his head.

For a whole week after this, nothing was to be seen of Vamhidy. Count Kengyelesy sought him everywhere and could find him nowhere. Every day he asked his countess what she had done with the young man.

Ten days after the first soiree the date for another had been fixed. Szilard did not appear even at this. Kengyelesy hunted for him from pillar to post, but could not discover what had become of him. Nobody had heard anything of him.

"He has poisoned himself," said Kengyelesy at last to a group of his sporting friends. "It is quite plain to me. When a fellow has got that sort of thing into his head once, he will try it again and again. I wash my hands of the business, it is all the fault of the countess. Why does she play her tricks with such people? No doubt he has swallowed poison and then crawled away into some nook or corner of a forest. In a month or two, I suppose, we shall come upon him unexpectedly."

"Whom shall we come upon unexpectedly?" cried a voice behind his back. He looked around and there was the long lost Szilard.

"Oh, there you are, eh? What have you been doing with yourself all this time? Come along with me—and Heaven help you!—I will take you to my wife. Poor young chap! I thought you had already had enough of it and made away with yourself in consequence."

Then he drew his arm through Szilard's and tripped off to the countess. "Here he is!" he cried. "We have found him, do not abandon yourself to despair on his account. Be so good as to sit down beside him!—here's a chair! I'll take care nobody disturbs you!"

The countess pressed Szilard's hand and made a sign to him to remain.

"I have just arrived from Pest," said Szilard.

"Really! Well?"

"I have found out everything, or rather, I should say, a good deal."

"Do pray tell me at once. All the people are dancing, they will take no notice of us."

"Ever since old Lapussa's death," began Szilard, "for he died soon after he had altered his will, all the members of his family have been at bitter variance. Madame Langai, the old man's widowed daughter, disputes the validity of the last will—whereby Mr. John Lapussa becomes heir to the exclusion of everybody else, and has instituted legal proceedings to upset it. Madame Langai seeks to prove that old Lapussa was non compos mentis when he disinherited the other members of his family, and she also maintains, that the old fellow had no reason whatever for hating his grandchildren and reducing them to beggary as he has done. On the other hand, Mr. John maintains that his dear father had excellent reasons for detesting his grandchildren because the Baroness Hatszegi has never written a letter to her grandfather since her marriage and both she and her husband have expressed themselves, at home, in the most disrespectful terms imaginable concerning the old gentleman, even giving it to be understood that they would be very glad if they had not to wait too long for the curtain to fall on the fifth act of his life's drama. He calls as his witness one Margari, who was formerly old Lapussa's reader before the girl was married, and since then has been compelled to act as secretary to Hatszegi, or rather as a spy upon him. This fellow, who is now the mere tool of Mr. John, is quite prepared to retail all sorts of horrors about the Hatszegis. As to the other grandchild, the boy Koloman I mean, his uncle has saddled him with a terrible charge. He has produced a bill for 40,000 florins which he accuses the lad of forging in the name of his sister, the Baroness Hatszegi."

"Ah!" exclaimed the countess in an incredulous voice.

"The thing is ridiculously incredible, I know, yet there the bill is; I have seen it, for it has been sequestered by the Court. It is obviously in the youth's handwriting as also is the very bad imitation of his sister's signature. In connection therewith is the fact of the youth's sudden disappearance (and every attempt to trace his whereabouts has failed), for, on the very day when the subject of the bill was first broached, he vanished from his college, and apparently he had been preparing for flight some time before."

"But what could have induced a mere child to do such a thing, he is scarcely thirteen years old?"

"He was always somewhat flighty by nature, though that, of course, is not sufficient to explain how he came to forge his sister's name on a draft for 40,000 florins."

"But why will not the baron tell his wife all about it?"

"Does not your ladyship see?—It is quite plain to me. Hatszegi understands his wife thoroughly. He feels certain that as soon as the baroness hears of what her brother is accused, she would not hesitate a moment to acknowledge the forged signature as really her own."

"True, true. And then I suppose her brother could be saved."

"Completely."

"And then, I suppose, she would have to pay the money?"

"Either pay it or be sued for it."

"Poor woman! I know she has no money. A most awkward position, most awkward. But it does not matter; if her jewels are under lock and key, nobody guards mine."

At these words which came straight from the best of hearts, Szilard could not restrain himself from impressing a burning kiss on the countess's hand so affected was he by this outburst of generosity.

"Ah, ha!" cackled the count behind his back, "so we have got as far as that already, eh! Capital, capital, upon my word! Nay, nay, my young friend, don't be afraid of me. Do not put yourself out in the least on my account! God bless you, my boy!"

"To-morrow, we'll plan it all out, I'll be waiting for you at one o'clock," whispered the countess to Szilard, "now I must go, the cotillion is beginning."

"Don't you dance then?" enquired the count of Szilard. "Nonsense! they'll say you are mourning somebody. Thank God, old Lapussa was not your father-in-law, but Hatszegi's. It is for him to pull a long face, but you go and dance!"



CHAPTER XIII

TIT FOR TAT

It may seem strange to us that the rumour of Fatia Negra's nocturnal adventure was not spread abroad in these parts, but as a matter of fact nobody did speak of it. It seemed as if everybody who knew anything about it, died out of the world before he could pass the news on to his neighbour.

The dwellers in the hut in the Ice Valley had vanished without leaving a trace behind them. The herd, untended by a shepherd, was scattered to the winds by wolves. Nobody could say what had become of Juon Tare and Mariora. The person who shewed least of all tell that she knew anything about this midnight adventure was Anicza herself. She had sobbed out the whole story before Henrietta, but after that she kept her own counsel and kept a good countenance also when folks looked at her. But there was venom at the bottom of her heart, and she nourished it there.

In a fortnight's time Fatia Negra visited her again. There was now nothing the matter with him, all traces of the life and death struggle had disappeared. Anicza was more affectionate towards him than ever. She did not even ask him where he had been all this time, nor did she notice the scar on his neck which had not been there before.

Fatia Negra came to her at night, as he always did. The famous adventurer was very cautious. Anicza knew for certain that whenever he came to visit her in a populous place like this, before him and behind him went faithful henchmen who stood on guard at the corners of the streets and gave a signal at the approach of any danger. Only amongst the snowy mountains was he wont to go alone. He was also very wary in other ways. Thus, he never drank wine: there was really no getting at him. And if once he had his weapons handy, then he could always cut his way through his enemies, even if he were completely surrounded.

"Fatia Negra," said the girl, throwing her arms round his neck, "last night I had an evil dream. I dreamt that the smallpox had ruined my face. Would you love me if I were pockmarked?"

"Yes, I would still love you," replied the adventurer.

"Well, as it happens I am not. Kiss me! Then I dreamt another dream. I dreamt that all our property was destroyed. I was a ragged wandering beggar with my head tied up. Would you love me if I were a ragged beggar?"

"Little fool, of course I should love you."

"Then embrace me nicely. After that I dreamt that some one had shut me up in prison for some great offence; they had condemned me to many years' imprisonment, condemned me to spend all my youth behind iron-barred windows and they would only let me free again when I had become a wrinkled old hag. Would you love me if I was in prison? Would you come and stand outside my iron bars and speak to me now and then?"

"Stop this foolish chatter! Who is able to answer such questions?" and in order that she should obey the more readily he closed her mouth with kisses.

But as soon as the kisses were over, she began to prattle again:

"But after that I went on dreaming again, and I dreamt what made me very angry with myself. I dreamt that I married someone else and forgot you. Would you still love me if I were to deceive you and wed another?"

"Yes, I would love you even then, Anicza,—and my love for you would make me shoot you through the heart."

How the girl laughed when he said this!

"Wait a bit," said she, "and you will see that it will all come to pass. I shall grow sick and ugly. I shall become a poor beggar. They will send me to prison and make a slave of me. I shall deceive you and wed another. Then we shall see whether you will love me; then we shall see whether you will kill me."

Anicza thought all this so amusing that she laughed aloud. The noise brought old Onucz into the room. His daughter turned towards him smilingly. "Isn't it true, father, that three suitors are courting me?" she asked. "I was asking Fatia Negra which of the three I should take."

Old Onucz scratched his nose pretty hard at this question. He would have liked to have said: "whichever you like, as long as it is the right one!" but he was afraid of offending Fatia Negra.

"Well, Domnule," said he at last, "truth is truth, after all. I'm getting an old man now, and what's the good of my scraping together and piling up all these ducats if nothing comes of it all? I have indeed an only daughter, a pretty girl and a good girl, too, but what's the use of that? You are not her husband. If I only knew of some corner of the world quite out of your reach, I would gather together all my belongings, seek it out and settle down there; but it would be of no avail, you would always find me out and befool my girl again, so I have to stay where I am."

"Don't grumble, old chap, there is a time for all things. This black mask shall not always cover my face; when I come to see you, my name shall not always be Fatia Negra. The day will come when a carriage and four shall drive into your courtyard, a sabre-tashed heyduke will then leap from the box and open the silver-plated coach and a cavalier in cloth of gold will step out who comes to you as a suitor. If you see this ring on his finger you will know that it is I, and there will no longer be a Fatia Negra in the wide world. We will go together to Bucharest, a true Roumanian city, where folks will respect us and then our happy days will begin."

"If only that could be soon! But you have been telling me this for a long, long time."

"That is because we cannot put an end to our work yet. There are very many people who still expect much from us. If I do not satisfy them they will remain a perpetual danger to us. That is why I am compelled to wear this mask a little longer. When once I have taken it off, he who used to wear it is dead and has nothing more in common with me."

"Then you really mean to break away from everything one day?"

"Yes, it is high time. My little finger whispers that someone wants to betray me. But say that to nobody. We must not frighten our own people. The Government is getting suspicious at the disappearance of so much gold. It is sniffing about, but at present it is on a wrong track. The Jews of Hungary are suspected and they happen to know nothing at all about it. But it is quite enough that suspicion has been aroused. So far they fancy that only about fifty to sixty pounds of gold a year are unlawfully made away with. They don't know yet that it amounts to five or six hundredweight, which is coined into ready money underneath the ground. This business must be put a stop to. This year the mines yielded a rich profit. Next Saturday there will be a last delivery of gold in the Lucsia cavern. As soon as the coins are struck, we shall divide the profits, wish one another 'buna nopte!'[30] and depart our respective ways. We shall destroy the machinery, blow up the smelting furnaces with gunpowder, break down the aqueducts and close up the mouth of the cavern. After that everyone can do as he likes with his gold. I shall wash my hands of it."

[Footnote 30: Good night.]

"Well said!" cried old Onucz, "that is as I would have it also. The whole lot of us who are partners in the concern will meet once more in the Lucsia cavern. There we will listen to what you say and swear to each other that we will not say a word of what has gone on down below there. Then everyone will do as you bid, for you are the most prudent of us all."

"Then I shall only have to wait another week?" enquired Anicza, winding the locks of Fatia Negra round her fingers.

"For what?" asked the adventurer.

"Nay, but surely you know?"

"Aha! of course!" said he smiling. "You mean you will only have to wait another week for me to cease to be your husband under a mask and become your real, true husband, eh? That is the end of all your thoughts, eh?"

"Yes, yes!" said the girl, but she thought within herself: "I shall only have to wait a week to give up your masked head into the hands of the hangman!"

So Fatia Negra unsuspiciously rocked the girl up and down on his knee and reflected complacently: "Girls are made in order that they may believe the lies which men choose to tell them."

But Anicza was a Wallachian girl and Wallachian girls are jealous, revengeful and artful.

* * * * *

That Saturday had arrived.

Seven hundred torches lit up the Lucsia Grotto. In between, from out of the corners of the cavern Bengal lights burst forth from time to time flooding for a few moments the whole of that gloomy palace with green, blue, white and rose-coloured flames to which the red flame of the pitch-torches with their black smoke formed a spectral contrast.

The great company of coiners had arranged for the last evening before their separation a sumptuous feast in this subterranean hall. The floor was strewn with white sand and all round about tents were erected in which roast and baked meats were piled up into veritable hillocks on broad beech-wood dishes. In order to show the wealth at their command an ox was roasting whole on a flaming fire, revolving as it roasted, while two men, one on each side, basted it well with bacon fat held on iron forks. Close behind it was a gigantic vat of wine, everybody was free to drink out of it as much as he chose. Right in front of the smithy, too, was another gigantic vat holding about fifty firkins, filled to the brim with the finest eau de vie. A couple of young fellows lolled in front of the vat; they were already too lazy to dip their glasses into the fluid, they sucked it in from the brim of the vat itself.

The glare of the smelting oven no longer shone from the windows of the stone building in the midst of the cavern, the smoke intermingled with sparks no longer welled out of the flue, the subterranean hubbub no longer accompanied the stroke of the hammers, the machinery was silent, its work was done.

Two hundred and fifty thousand coined ducats await distribution; of these, fifty thousand belong to Fatia Negra and twenty thousand to old Onucz.

The smithy to-day is adorned with green twigs and bright ribbons, and on its massive chimneys all the requisites for a pyrotechnical display have been heaped up; it is from these that the rockets will ascend, it is here the blue and red Catherine wheels will revolve. The vaulted ceiling of the cavern is so high that the rockets in their highest flight will not graze it. An orchestral-like balustrade has been provided for the musicians. The shareholders themselves will do their best to enliven the festivities with fiddles, flutes and bagpipes. The guests are already appearing, singly and in groups, down through the machinery of the mill. The men are all accompanied by their womenkind in gala costumes.

Before the appearance of Fatia Negra, mirth and uproar have full swing. Everyone gives free course to his jollity till the chief comes whose black mask is sufficient to quiet everyone's good humour.

And to-day brings with it its own peculiar festivity. After the great distribution of money, Fatia Negra will take the daughter of Onucz by the hand and plight his troth to her in front of a crucifix placed on a high pedestal. The oath of betrothal will be an invention of Fatia Negra himself, filled with well assorted curses and promises. And he will swear to regard Anicza as his lawful bride from this day forth until such time as he can, without any mask or disguise, conduct her before a priest and solemnize his wedding in another place and before other people. For a long time this ceremony has been the pet idea of old Onucz and now Fatia Negra has agreed to it.

Gradually all the partners have assembled in the cavern. Amongst the last to arrive are old Onucz and his daughter with the bridesmaids. Anicza is dressed as usual with her girdle and embroidered bodice and a round hat on her head. The only difference is that now she sparkles all over with gold and jewels and her pig-tail is interwoven with real pearls. Amongst all the picked beauties who have gathered together here, she is still the most beautiful.

Only the bridegroom still keeps the good folks waiting. He is a long time coming, as becomes a great man. Nay, it is quite possible he may be there already without anyone seeing him. Perchance he is walking along there behind the bride in an invisible mantle and only when he throws it off, then only and not till then will the people see him.

Anicza screams aloud—perhaps with joy! Everyone is thunderstruck; they imagine their leader must be in league with the devil himself, for he comes up from out of the earth!

And with what splendour does he ascend! The purple robe that he wears is scarce discernible for gold lace; a long embroidered mantle, like the mantle of a prince, floats down from his shoulders and on his head he wears a golden helmet from which the mask depends.

The top of this helmet is set all round about with diamonds, and one of his comrades makes the remark that the spike of this helmet is somewhat muddy. He wore no weapon by his side, not even a dagger. Naturally,—one generally lays aside one's arms when one is about to swear solemnly before an altar. Onucz approached him obsequiously and kissed the hand of his mysterious leader with profound respect, whilst Anicza approached him with roguish archness, adroitly feigning a superstitious fear of her magician of a sweetheart.

"I am not afraid of you, Fatia Negra! though you come and go unseen. I fear you come not in God's name."

"That is true. We are nearer methinks to the Kingdom of the Devil."

"Hush! say not so!"

"Why not? If these men had imagined that I came down from Heaven, they would have betrayed me long ago. They would have carried me bound to Fehervar; but because they fancy I came from below and am acquainted with the devil, they fear me and are faithful. It is the same with you: you love me because you fear me."

"Ho, ho, ho! We shall see. I fear nobody, not even you. It was a joke when I said just now: I am afraid. You did not see that."

"Come now, I'll put you to the test at once. You see that crucifix on the altar? On that we will swear fidelity to each other and everyone here present will also swear to preserve eternal secrecy. As, however, we coiners cannot call God to witness, for by our trade we have rejected him, our oaths cannot ascend to Heaven but must descend elsewhere. In order then that our oath may be effectual, go if you have the courage, turn the crucifix and return it to its place—only upside down."

For an instant the girl grew pale and trembled, then she advanced boldly up to the altar, seized the crucifix and lifting it up, turned it round and thrust it upside down into a hole that happened to be on the altar, so that its pedestal stood up in the air.

All who were present looked on with wonder and horror.

As the girl raised the cross and put it down again reverse ways, a mechanical involuntary jolting motion of her arms was discernible, though her face betrayed nothing. An electrical machine hidden beneath the altar was the cause of this shock.

"Well?" enquired Fatia Negra as she returned to her place.

"The crucifix struck me when I seized it, and struck me again when I put it down," whispered the girl; and as she said these words she was very pale.

"And yet you did what I told you," said Fatia Negra, placing his hand on Anicza's shoulder. "You are a brave girl, and worthy of me."

"Comrades!" the leader of the adventurers now cried with a thundrous voice, "come and listen to me!"

Everyone thereupon abandoned his booth, his table or his diversion and stood in a circle round Black Mask.

"Ye know," he began, "the name of that place which is under the earth! Its name is the grave. Ye are all of you at this moment in the grave with me and if I wish it, dead men. Whoever would see once more the bright sunlight of the upper world where dawn is now breaking, he must swear that he will never at any time, drunk or sober, tell to any man what has happened, what he has seen or heard in this underground tomb, but will regard it all as a dream which he has forgotten on awakening. Swear this with me in this hour! I myself will first of all repeat the oath and ye must say whether ye are content therewith or not."

Thereupon he approached the altar whose basement formed the glass isolating "island" which all of us who have ever seen an electrical machine know so well. The electric machine itself, a battery of Leyden jars was hidden under the altar and connected by a piece of clockwork with that opening covered with metal in which the crucifix had been planted.

Black Mask stood silently for a moment on the basement of the altar after removing his helmet from his head, and those who stood nearest were horrified to observe that single hairs of his long flowing mane of hair rose slowly and remained stiffly suspended in the air. There was a deep silence, the silence that prevails under the earth—among the Dead.

And now Fatia Negra began to recite the words of the oath in a solemn ghostly voice: "I, the bearer of the Black Mask, Fatia Negra, as they call me, swear in the subterranean midnight by the living fire which falling like rain reduced Sodom and Gomorrah to ashes; by the flood which killed all the dwellers upon earth; by the gaping gulf which swallowed up the traitorous bands of Dathan and Abiram; by the spirit which announced the death of King Saul; by the Angel Lucifer who by reason of his rebellion was cast down from Heaven; by the angel Malach Hamovesh who carries in his hands the sword of violent death; by the twelve plagues of Egypt with which Moses visited the land of the Pharaohs; by all these things and by the star under which I was born do I swear secresy—and may I perish in fire and water, may I be buried alive in the bowels of the earth, may I become a pillar of salt, may the wild beast of the forest tear me to pieces, may my own weapon turn against me in the evil hour, may I be terrified by midnight spectres and hag-ridden, may my body be smitten with leprosy, my eyes with blindness, my tongue with dumbness, my bones by rottenness, if ever I speak one syllable to anybody, be it priest, or child, or father, or condemning judge, or threatening headsman, of anything I have seen, heard or learnt in this place, or write it down with my hand or put anybody on the track of it! May every drop of my blood become curse-laden; may my remotest posterity anathematize me; may I awake in my grave and go about again as a spectre, if ever I act in anyway contrary to what I now swear! May all those who are under the earth and above the earth be the witnesses of this my oath!"

This drastic formula satisfied everybody. In those parts the people much prefer such unmeaning self-objurgation to our legal oaths as taken in the presence of the judges and they are considered a hundred times more binding. Meanwhile numerous single hairs had seemed to detach themselves from Black Mask's long locks and now stood upright all around his head like some spectral crown. Those who stood around regarded him with deep horror. Many believed that a supernatural marvellous power was in his words; only the girl did not believe in him at all.

In order to increase still further this terrified respect the adventurer beckoned towards him the old men of the assembly.

"Come hither, that ye may see for yourselves how well acquainted with the words of the oath are those in that other place where knowledge needs must be; stretch out your hands towards me, touch me with the tips of your fingers and ye will discover there is something else present here besides yourselves."

Old Onucz tremblingly stretched out his hand in the direction of Fatia Negra and the next moment collapsed with fear when he perceived sparks crackle forth from his leader's garments which burnt his finger tips. More than one elder was afraid at first to put out his hand till curiosity made him venture everything. Several wanted to convince themselves personally of this miracle, which they could not credit from the hearsay of others and the juggler himself encouraged those standing near him to touch him wherever they chose and fire would spring from his body. Sparks sometimes leaped forth from his neck and sometimes from the tips of his ears and everyone was persuaded that the curse had already made its way into every drop of his blood.

Anicza alone did not draw near him.

"Are you afraid of me, then?" enquired the imposter.

"No."

"Come and kiss me then!"

Anicza approached and allowed herself to be kissed.

Immediately afterwards a shudder ran through her.

"Well? What did you feel?"

"Your mouth burnt my mouth," replied the girl, and Fatia Negra happening to look aside just then, she furtively crossed herself.

Fatia Negra was completely satisfied with the success of this comedy. Their awe of the mysterious and the unintelligible had made his comrades his slaves; he need have no more scruples concerning them.

"Give me your right hand, Anicza," said he, "and give your other hand to your next neighbour, and let everyone take the hand of the person next to him."

Thus he made them form a long chain, the extreme end of which was brought up by old Onucz in whose hand he placed a slender conducting rod which hung down from the altar. Then he recited the fantastic oath before them all once more, whilst they repeated every syllable of it after him. The comedy was concluded by a violent electric shock which instantly sent a spasm of pain through the muscles and sinews of every member of the living chain. The poor untaught creatures all imagined that the devil himself was flying through their limbs and with tears and groans they begged Black Mask not to put them to any further test.

"And now, Fatia Negra," said old Onucz respectfully, "the moment has come in which you also must keep your word. Will you really take my daughter to wife?"

"I will not see the light of day again until I have done so."

"Will you swear to be her husband in the way you promised to swear?"

"You shall hear me."

"Then have I something else to say to you. Over there, as you see, stands the great weighing machine, in one of the scales I will place Anicza and in the other as many piles of ducats as will make her kick the beam. I will give my girl as many gold ducats as she weighs."

Thereupon the two bridesmen produced a large wooden platter, placed the bride on it, raised it high in the air and carried it to the huge weighing machine. Onucz bade them place both bride and platter in the scale that it might weigh the heavier. Then they piled up into the other scale as many of the sacks of ducats sealed with the seal of Onucz as were necessary to establish an absolute equipoise between the two scales, and then while both the girl and the gold, balancing each other were floating in the air, old Onucz, his face beaming with triumph, poked Fatia Negra in the side with his elbows and said: "And now all that is yours."

The adventurer rushed to the weighing-machine, not indeed to the scale on which the gold was, but to where the girl stood and lifted her down on his arm as if she were a child. The other scale, losing its balance, rushed earthwards and the sacks filled with gold ducats toppled off it left and right.

At this the company was delighted. Fatia Negra's manly tenderness was appreciated by everyone and old Onucz, radiant with joy, turned towards his cronies: "You see it is not my money but my daughter that he is after!"

And yet if Fatia Negra had only been able to foresee what was about to happen the next instant, if only he had been able to guess what would happen during the first few moments of the first approaching quarter of an hour, could he but have heard one step, one bump which might have told him what was going on just then above his head, instead of extending his hands towards the girl, he would have done much more wisely if he had grasped in each hand one of the sacks lying on the other scale and made off with it somewhere through that dark corridor which nobody knew of but he himself, under the special protection of the devil. Just now, however, the devil was evidently not looking after him as carefully as usual, for he returned to the altar with the girl in his arms and deposited his load on the altar steps. The girl knelt down.

"Strew over her corn moistened with honey!" whispered old Onucz to the bridesmaids;—he considered this old custom as of the highest importance. Possibly it was a symbol of fruitfulness.

Anicza wanted Fatia Negra to bend down to her. She had something to whisper in his ear. He leant over her as she desired, drew her pretty face close up to his, and the girl timidly whispered:

"Are you going to take me away under the earth?"

"Are you afraid I shall do so?"

"With you I will go wherever you choose and will fear nothing."

"I take you at your word."

"I don't care. Whither lies the way, to the right or to the left?"

"To the left. Everything which brings luck must be done lefthandedly."

"Is the door underneath the coining-shop?" asked the girl carelessly.

"Yes, if you must know."

"I am ready. Say the oath that I may hear it!"

Fatia Negra repeated his hocus-pocus, kneeling down beside Anicza on the steps of the altar, and raising his eyes towards the black vault of the cavern as he recited the words of a new oath, which kept all the listeners spellbound, so full it was of grisly images and hellish fancies. So deep indeed was the general attention that nobody observed in the meantime that, in the dark background formed by the distant walls of the cavern, a multitude of strange faces were popping up. First two men descended through the machinery of the mill and then two others until, gradually, a hundred of them had assembled. They were all armed and dressed in uniform, but their arms were concealed beneath their mantles, that they might not glimmer through the darkness. And then they quietly formed into ranks like supernumeraries on the stage of a theatre whilst the chief comedian is ending his monologue in front of the footlights. Only Anicza had observed them. During the whole course of the oath, she had not once looked at Fatia Negra's cursing lips, but at the groups forming in the darkness above his head.

The oath over, Fatia Negra seized the reversed crucifix and an electric shock again jolted the hand of the girl which he held fast in his own right hand. "Now, you swear it also!" cried he.

The only reply the girl gave was to passionately tear her hand out of the adventurer's. Rising from her knees, and with her handsome face full of rage, scorn and hatred, she turned upon him, who knelt at her feet, gnashing her pearly teeth as she spoke: "Wretched play-actor! masked imposter! You have deceived everybody, but nobody so much as me. Do you remember that night in the ice valley and how shamefully you betrayed me there? Know then that I was present in that hut, that it was I who blew the horn and brought back the jealous husband from the forest. I saw the tussle that followed and I swore, there and then, that I would be your ruin. Just now you swore that if ever you betrayed me, thus might you yourself be betrayed by whomsoever you trusted most. You said: 'Let water pursue; let fire seize me, let the axe of the headsman descend upon me and the dogs drink up my blood!' Be it so, then—here is fire in front of you and water behind you and the headsman's sword above your head! The dogs that are to lick your blood are already barking for it. I have betrayed you. Look behind you!"

The armed band of soldiers, moving forward in line, like a piece of machinery, suddenly disclosed a row of bayonets glittering in the light of the torches. "We are lost!" howled the mob, whilst the voice of the officer in command (it had a strong foreign accent), rose above the din: "Down with your arms! no resistance!"

Onucz rushed roaring towards his sacks of ducats, the women scattered screaming among the tents. For an instant Fatia Negra stood petrified before Anicza, like a devil caught in a trap, and gazed vacantly at the girl's flaming face.

Anicza now turned quickly towards the armed soldiers and cried with a piercing voice: "Hasten Juon Tare! Seize the smelting-oven entrance, else this devil will still escape us!"

That was why she wanted to know from Fatia Negra which way they would go underground.

At these words, however, the adventurer recovered himself. He saw a pitiless enemy and a troop of armed men hastening to the door of the smelting-furnace and that way of refuge was consequently closed. The same instant an infernal idea occurred to him.

Hastily snatching up a burning torch from the altar with a couple of vigorous bounds he approached the smelting-furnace. Twenty bayonets and a long axe in the hands of Juon Tare were raised against him—and he was unarmed.

But it was not to the door he wished to get. With a spring sideways he reached the huge vat filled with brandy, threw the burning torch down in front of it and placing his muscular shoulders against the vat, with a desperate exertion of strength scattered its contents on to the floor of the cavern from end to end.

In an instant the whole cavern was in flames!

The floor was of stone so that it could not absorb the spirit as it leaked out and it flashed up as it caught the flame of the torch close at hand. It spread rapidly like a lake of fire that has burst its dams.

The blue spirit-flame filled the whole of the empty cavern with a pale, ghastly glare, the air, the empty space itself seemed to burst into flame. Hundreds of torches, burnt down to their very roots, flickered luridly in the midst of this blue fire of hell, and the heaped-up fire works,—the Bengali pyramids and the rockets and crackers—flamed, fizzled and banged about in the midst of the terrible heat. And in the thick of this infernal blaze black figures, like the souls of the Accursed, were running frantically about, howling, shrieking and toppling over one another and seeking a refuge on the higher rocks whither the flames, spreading through the air, leaped after them. Juon Tare lost his eyesight in the flames. The others tried to find a refuge in the aqueduct running through the cavern, but the pursuing alcohol rushed after them like a living cataract of fire. Everyone seemed bound to perish at this hellish marriage feast.

Only two people did not lose their presence of mind; only two knew what ought to be done, and one of these was Fatia Negra. When the armed soldiers scattered from before the door of the smelting-furnace, he had boldly waded through the burning spirit; he knew very well that it could not set fire to clothing immediately and he took care to hold his hands in front of his eyes to save himself from being blinded. He tore the door open and hastily vanished through it.

The other was Anicza, who, when she saw that in the hundred-fold confusion everyone had lost his head and was running desperately to certain death, quickly snatched up an axe, rushed to the gigantic beer vats and staved in their bottoms. The neutral fluid streamed down upon the floor like a water fall and, gradually gaining ground, forced the flaming palinka[31] back further and further, till at last the infernal blue light was gradually extinguished.

[Footnote 31: Hungarian brandy.]

By that time, however, the beautiful bride was a sight of horror, her face was burnt out of all recognition.

Every member of the party had received injuries from the fire. Some of them, already blinded, writhed in agony on the ground and dipped their faces in the cool puddles formed by the flowing beer. Old Onucz had not a hair of his head left, but for all that he was still sitting on a heap of ducats, which were rolling in every direction out of the half charred sacks. His scorched hands he dug down deep among his ducats, and thought, perhaps, that they would assuage his pangs.

Both of Juon Tare's eyes had been burnt out by an explosion of gunpowder, and two of the soldiers had also received serious injuries.

Only after the general terror had subsided a little, did it occur to someone that now that the fire had been brought under, Fatia Negra might be pursued. This someone was the bride.

It was she who seized a new torch, it was she who cried to the soldiers: "After me!" and was the first to tear open the door of the smelting-furnace. Within was darkness. By torchlight they explored every corner of that underground world—but Fatia Negra was nowhere to be found.



CHAPTER XIV

THE MIKALAI CSARDA

From Hidvar to Gyula Fehervar is a good day's journey, even with the best horses and in the best weather; in the rainy season the mountain streams make the journey still longer. Fortunately, exactly half-way lies the Mikalai csarda, in which dwells a good honest Wallachian gentleman who also follows the profession of innkeeper. In these mining regions there are no Jews, all the inns and csardas are in the hands of the Armenians and Wallachs: the people are content with them and the Hungarian gentry like them.

Young Makkabesku had built up his den in a most picturesque situation beside a stream gushing down from among the mountains and forming a waterfall close to the very house. This stream possessed the peculiar property of turning to stone every leaf and twig which fell into it, even the branches of the trees hanging over it were turned into pretty white petrifactions so far as the water was able to reach them.

Domnul Makkabesku did not carry on the business of inn-keeper for the sake of gain (he would not have been able to make a living out of it if he had tried), but from sheer goodheartedness and good-fellowship. His charges therefore were extremely moderate. A traveller on foot who asked for a night's lodging, had to pay twopence, a traveller on horseback a shilling; if he required wine and brandy for supper as well, still he was only charged a shilling. Who would go to the trouble of totting up extra figures for trifles of that sort? A carriage and four was not taxed at all, those who came in it paid what they chose. If anybody did not ask what he had to pay but simply shook hands and went on his way, mine host simply wished him a happy journey and never said a word about his account.

For Makkabesku was a proud man in his way and thought a great deal of his gentility. He expected to be addressed as "Domnule!"[32] and was delighted when his guests took notice of his coat of arms hanging up in the guest chamber,—to-wit, a black bear with three darts in its heel—and enquired as to its meaning; when he would explain that that black bear with the three darts which was also painted on a sheet of lead and swung backwards and forwards in front of the house between two iron rods was not a sign-board, but his family crest.

[Footnote 32: Sir.]

Late one afternoon Baron Leonard Hatszegi might have been seen on foot crossing the bridge which led to the Mikalai csarda, and entering its courtyard. He came on foot with a small box under his arm and his double-barrelled gun across his shoulder. Makkabesku greeted him from the verandah while he was still a long way off.

"God be with your lordship! Is anything amiss that your lordship comes on foot?"

"Yes, at that cursed tyira lupului[33] the axle of my coach gave way. I have always said that that bad bit of road ought to be seen to, this is at least the sixth time that this accident has befallen me."

[Footnote 33: Wolf-corner.]

"God is the cause thereof, your lordship. Whenever the stream overflows it damages the road."

"That is no consolation for me. My fellows are struggling with the coach yonder and cannot set it upright again, so badly damaged it is. It is a good job I was driving my own horses, for otherwise my neck might have been broken. As it is one of my heydukes has sprained his hand. Send help to them at once, or they are likely to remain there all night. Where's your little girl?"

"Ah, my lord! your lordship will always be having your little joke.—Flora, come hither!"

A pretty little maid came out of the inn at these words, and smiled upon the nobleman with a face toasted red by the kitchen fire.

"Take his lordship's gun and little box and carry them into the guest-room!"

"Well, my little girl! how are you? not married yet, eh?" said the baron, pinching her round red cheeks whilst the wench took his box.

"Heh, but 'tis heavy!" she gasped, as if she were quite frightened at the weight of the box. "Won't the gun go off?"

"Don't turn your fiery eyes upon it, or else it might—eh, grandpapa, what do you say?"

"Come, Flora, go in, go in! His lordship is always in such capital spirits. Even when his carriage comes to grief he will have his joke all the same."

The point of the joke was that Makkabesku was a man not much beyond forty though there were flecks of grey on the back of his head here and there. The girl, on the other hand, was scarcely sixteen when the Roumanian gentleman took her to wife. Leonard therefore always made a point of aggravating the innkeeper by pretending to believe that his wife was his daughter and by regularly asking him, as if he were her grandfather, when he intended to get his granddaughter married.

"You need not send help to my carriage, after all," said Hatszegi, after due reflection; "for, by and by I'll see to that myself. I am going back that way. But I should like you to place that little box in some safe place for the time being. It contains 4,000 ducats and that is no trifle."

"Huh! my lord!" cried the innkeeper clapping the back of his head with both hands, as if he feared it was already about to fall off backwards. "Your lordship dares to carry so much gold about with you and stroll so carelessly about in these parts!"

"Carelessly!—what do you mean? I cannot wheel them in front of me on a barrow can I? I want to pay them into my account at Fehervar the day after to-morrow; I have payments to make. That is why I carry them about with me."

"I only meant to say that it is dangerous to go about alone with so much money."

"I am not in the habit of going about with an escort."

"The more's the pity, Domnule. These parts are panic-stricken, since Anicza betrayed the coiners in the Lucsia Cavern, we have been saddled with a whole heap of calamities. A lot of poor fools and a heap of treasure were captured, but the head of the band, Fatia Negra, was suffered to escape. And now, furious at his loss of treasure, he blackmails the whole region. Nobody is safe here now,—only the day before yesterday he stopped and robbed the royal mails on the King's highroad."

"Ho, ho! If he takes to those games, he'll soon get his teeth broken. He won't venture to touch me though, I'll be bound."

"I don't know about that Domnule. He wears a mask and therefore has no need to blush or blanch at anything."

"Does he ever look in here, or has he ever lodged with you?"

"No, my lord, I can safely say that he has never been here, to my great astonishment I must confess. For a great many gentlemen call here and many paths lead hitherward."

"Don't you keep arms in your house?"

"Why should I? I have not enough money to make it worth Fatia Negra's while to rob me. Besides, it is a great mistake to resist him. Juon Tare actually had him in his hands, yet what was the result? He goes about now a blind beggar. Anicza betrayed him and brought down the soldiers upon him, yet what did she get by it? He vanished under the earth, but she reduced her old father to poverty and is now sitting with all her acquaintances in the dungeons of Gyula Fehervar!"

"Fear nothing! At any rate no ill can befall you while I go to my coachman and come back again. Lock this casket in your wall-cupboard in the meantime, and keep the key yourself."

"Nay, let your lordship keep it rather. I don't want it to be said that I knew anything about it."

So Makkabesku locked up the casket in the huge wall-closet which greatly resembled a large standing clock case and in which were his diploma of nobility and all his domestic treasures. The key of the locked closet he returned to his guest. Then by way of extra precaution, he locked the room as well and forced that key also upon the Baron.

"Domnule," he added, when he saw that Hatszegi was determined to return to his wrecked coach. "I can only say that I should be very glad if your lordship would not go. The servants will be quite able to bring the carriage along."

"That they cannot: the whole lot of them are mere boors who have never seen a carriage with an iron axle."

"Let me go then, and your lordship remain here."

"I suppose you want me, then, to show your daughter how to cook?"

The innkeeper's eyebrows contracted at these words; his desire to go visibly subsided.

"But suppose I am afraid of being left alone in the house with so much money?"

"Come, come, wretched man!" cried Hatszegi at last losing all patience, "you don't suppose that your blockhead of a bandit is lying in wait for me, do you? Look you now! I'll leave you my gun. Take it in your hand and plant yourself there before the door. Bring out a chair, if you like, and sit down on it. Pull down the hammers of both barrels and hold your thumb on them and your index finger on the trigger. The left barrel is filled with ten buckshot and you can be quite sure that whoever approaches you from the lower end of this passage will inevitably get five in his body,—and five of them is enough for anybody. The second barrel, the right one I mean, is loaded with a bullet which we generally keep in reserve for a wild beast, at the last moment, at six paces; at that distance any child could kill a giant. Don't be afraid, if he wore a coat of mail, it would go through it, for that bullet has a steel point and would perforate a leaden door. Come, you are not afraid now, surely?"

Makkabesku certainly felt a great stream of courage flow into his heart at the knowledge that he held in his hand a weapon which could kill the most terrible of men twice over.

"But what about your lordship?" he enquired.

"Oh, I've got two revolvers in my pocket."

And with that, gaily whistling, Hatszegi strode down the long passage and peeped into the kitchen, on his way out, to exchange a word or two with the fair young cook.

"Look ye, my daughter, have supper ready by my return, and take care not to over-salt the soup!" and then with the nonchalance becoming his station he sauntered across the bridge again into the highroad, followed all the way by the eyes of Makkabesku.—"What a gallant fellow it is!" reflected the Roumanian.

The innkeeper did not count courage among his virtues. He was a peace-loving soul who detested the very idea of a brawl. Even when he sat down to drink, it was always inside a room with a locked door, for on one occasion, when he had got drunk in public, the wine had instilled within him such unwonted audacity that he had got his skull broken in two places in consequence. After that he avoided all such occasions of heroism.

For such folks who have nothing to do with firearms as a rule, there is a peculiar charm in suddenly holding a loaded weapon in their hands. Valour and a sudden access of pugnacity combine to put them in a condition of perpetual fever. A strange longing arises within them to make use of their weapon. Once or twice Makkabesku raised his gun to his cheek and made a target of a fly on the wall. At the end of the vestibule facing him was an old Roman image, the head and bust of an Emperor, which had been unearthed in the neighbourhood of the house when the foundations had been laid, and had been adopted forthwith as a family relic. If this old imperial figurehead had been an enemy, let us say the famous robber of the district, our marksman felt that he could easily have shattered his skull for him.

The sun was now slowly descending from the sky, and the lower it sank, the less golden and the more purple grew the light which it threw upon the ancient monument opposite, till the shadow of an adjacent column fell softly across it and hid it half from view.

Suddenly it seemed to Makkabesku as if he saw the shadow of a human head moving beside the shadow of the column.

The breath died away on his lips—someone was lurking there!

"Who is there?" he cried, in a voice half choked with terror. The same instant there stood before him at the opposite end of the corridor—Fatia Negra!

Yes, there the figure was just as it had been described to him, enfolded in a black atlas mantle, with a black mask across its face.

"Stay where you are, don't come here!" cried the armed Makkabesku, in an agony of terror, "or I'll shoot you through," and as the mask continued to advance, he hurriedly fired off the left barrel of the gun.

The smoke of the powder cleared away, Fatia Negra stood there unwounded, he was coming nearer and nearer!

Ah, those little shots could not hurt him, of course—but now he shall have the bullet with the steel point.

As the first shot was fired, Makkabesku's wife came running out of the kitchen and came face to face with the robber. He immediately seized her arm with his muscular hand and flung her back into the kitchen the door of which he locked upon her.

Mr. Makkabesku permitted all this to go on before his very eyes, but he had raised the gun and held it firmly pressed against his cheek, he wanted the robber to draw nearer still that he might make quite sure of him.

When there were only three yards between them he aimed right at the middle of the intruder, pressed the trigger of the gun and the right barrel also exploded.

Yet the report was followed by no death cry—and Fatia Negra still stood in front of him unscathed.

Paralyzed with terror Makkabesku continued to hold the discharged gun in front of him as if he expected it to go off again of its own accord; but Fatia Negra, catching hold of the end of the gun with one hand, wrenched it out of the innkeeper's grasp and brought down the butt of it so violently on the top of his head that he collapsed in a senseless condition.

After that nobody knew what happened.

When Hatszegi and his servants arrived with the patched-up carriage, Makkabesku was still lying on the ground unconscious, his wife was thundering at the locked door, the door of the guest chamber was smashed and the cupboard in the wall had been broken into and pillaged. Curiously enough, while not one of the innkeeper's relics was missing, Hatszegi's box with the 4,000 ducats had disappeared. A little later it was found in the bed of the stream—empty of course.

Makkabesku was a very long time coming to, but he contrived at last, in a very tremulous voice, to tell Hatszegi the somnambulistic case of the double shots, nay he called Heaven to witness that Fatia Negra had caught the bullets in his hands as if they were flies.

"You're a fool," cried Hatszegi angrily. "I suppose you fired above his head on both occasions."

"But then you ought to see the marks of the bullets on the opposite wall."

And it was a fact that, look as they might, they found no trace of a bullet on the walls or anywhere else.



CHAPTER XV

WHO IT WAS THAT RECOGNIZED FATIA NEGRA

The events at the Mikalai csarda considerably upset Hatszegi. He returned home very sulky and was unusually ungracious towards Henrietta. There were several violent scenes between them, in the course of which the baron twitted his wife with having betrayed him and hinted that it was all in consequence of her own and her brother's bad conduct that she had been disinherited by her grandfather. He revealed to her that he knew everything. He was well aware, he said, that in her girlhood she had had a rascally young attorney as a lover and had thereby incurred her grandfather's anger.

Henrietta, poor thing, had not the spirit to answer him back: "If you knew this, why did you marry me? Why did you not leave me then to him with whom I should have been happy if poor?" She could only reply with tears. She trembled before him while she loathed him.

And yet how dependent she was on him.

She was well aware now of what her brother was accused, and never doubted for a moment what she ought to do. She ought to atone for his fault by an act of self-sacrifice. She must recognize the forgery as her real signature. But what then? The recognition of the signature must needs have consequences. What would be the result of her action?

She could see she had no help to expect from her husband. At every step she perceived that he eagerly sought occasion to quarrel with her and seized every pretext for avoiding her. And now to add to her embarrassment, there was this unlucky Mikalai accident. It seemed just to have come in the nick of time so far as he was concerned, just as if he had actually agreed with Fatia Negra that the latter should rob him on the high road in the most artful manner so that she might not have the slightest hope left of being relieved from her anxieties by the assistance of her husband. The baron, now could always end every tete-a-tete by remarking that that rogue Fatia Negra had relieved him of all his money, and he knew not how to make good his loss.

One day, while away from home hunting at Csako, Baron Leonard learnt that the Countess Kengyelesy's latest ideal was Szilard Vamhidy and when chance soon afterwards brought him also to Arad, he could see for himself that the countess really did load the young man with distinction in society.

The circumstance began to irritate him.

This pale-faced youth with the big burning eyes had turned the head of his own consort once upon a time, and now he was making other enviable conquests. The idea occurred to Hatszegi to knock this "student chap" out of his saddle a second time. Heretofore he had never regarded the countess as a particularly pretty woman, but now he very readily persuaded himself that he was over head and ears in love with her.

He began to pay his court to her—and he was lucky. At least everybody believed it—himself included.

The countess always seemed pleased to see him, and the oftener he paid his visits, the less frequent grew the visits of Szilard. Occasionally they met at the countess's and then Szilard would hastily step aside, as vanquished rivals are wont to do when their conquerors appear. At last Leonard was a daily institution at the countess's, while Szilard only appeared there occasionally.

Yet one day, while Hatszegi was in the drawing room of the countess, paying his court to her most assiduously, Vamhidy entered sans gene; whereupon the countess hastily springing up from her causeuse asked leave of the baron to withdraw for a moment and there and then conducted Vamhidy into her private boudoir and remained closeted with him for a good quarter of an hour, whilst Hatszegi, yellow with jealousy, was left alone with the countess's French companion, who could answer nothing but "oui" and "non" to all his remarks.

When the countess emerged from her room, she seemed to be in a very good humour. She accompanied Szilard all the way to the drawing-room door, pressed his hand, and when they parted at the door exchanged a significant look with him, at the same time touching her lips with her index finger—a very confidential piece of pantomime as any connoisseur will tell you.

And all this Hatszegi saw reflected in the mirror, opposite to which he sat.

As soon as the countess sat down, her companion, as if at a given signal, arose and left the room.

Scarcely were they alone when the baron petulantly remarked: "It appears as if your ladyship and our young friend rejoiced in very intimate mutual relations."

"Oh, very intimate. I assure you he is a most worthy, honourable man."

"So I observe."

"I am quite in earnest. I find him quite a treasure, and he is extraordinarily attached to me."

"Very nice of him, I'm sure."

"Oh, you gentlemen, what mockers you are. There are men, I can tell you, who for all that they are poor are more capable of self-sacrifice than the haughtiest nabobs who make such a fuss over us till we are in trouble and then snatch up their hats and fly from the house. You also belong to that class, my lord!"

"I don't understand you."

"Suppose, for instance, I were to say to you: my dear friend, I have fallen into quite an awkward predicament and to-day or to-morrow they will distrain upon me for 40,000 florins."

The baron burst out laughing.

"Don't laugh, for so it really is. That need cause you no anxiety, however, I only ask you to tell nobody, especially my husband. He would be capable of making an end of me if he knew it."

"But seriously, countess, who could ever have lent you 40,000 florins?"

"Nobody, and yet I am indebted to that amount. You must know that once upon a time, many years ago, when we lived at Vienna, I was given to card playing. We played for high stakes in those days. One evening not only did I lose all my cash, but had to give I.O.U.'s for 1,000 florins besides. Debts contracted at play cannot remain unpaid for more than a couple of days. It was absolutely indispensable that I should procure these thousand florins somehow. I would not ask my husband for them and that was very foolish of me. I got the amount at last from a wretched usurer at an enormous rate of interest. When the amount plus interest became due again, I was still more afraid to tell my husband, and so kept on giving fresh bills, with the result that the amount of my indebtedness grew and grew as the years rolled on, till it resembled the egg of the widow in the nursery tale—out of which came first two cocks, then a bristling boar, then a camel, and finally a carriage and four, for at last my original poor little debt of one thousand florins swelled into forty thousand and the usurers became importunate and would allow me no more credit. Once when I was in a very bad humour, I let out my secret before Szilard, and the worthy young man undertook to relieve me of my burden. I don't know whether he detected a technical flaw in my bonds or whether he found out some other means of frightening my creditor; anyway, he assured me I only need pay the original sum with interest upon it at the legal rate. Moreover, he undertook to procure me an honourable loan on easy conditions, which to me was a veritable godsend. And so now you know, my dear friend, why Vamhidy is so welcome a guest at my house that I leave even you all alone with my companion when he comes. But you can see for yourself how dear and necessary he is to me and how much I owe to him."

Hatszegi remained in a brown study for several moments, and began biting his lips. The countess sat down at the piano with the most amiable nonchalance as if she gave not another thought to what she had been speaking about.

"If only I had not had the misfortune to be robbed!" cried Hatszegi at last.

"Do you know what, my dear friend," said the countess, at the same time letting her fingers glide lightly over the ivory keys of the piano, "I consider the whole of that affair as simply incredible. Two shots so close to a man and no result!—why it borders a little upon the fabulous!"

"Then I suppose you think it was the innkeeper himself who robbed me?"

The countess shrugged her round shoulders slightly and went on playing.

"That is not possible," resumed the baron, answering his own query, "for I myself saw the blow which Makkabesku received on the head from the butt of the musket, and I can tell your ladyship that there are no four thousand ducats in the world for the sake of which I could lend my head to such a blow."

The countess interrupted her roulades for a moment:

"You saw it, eh? And did anybody else see it?"

Hatszegi was strangely surprised by this question.

"What is in your mind, Countess?" he asked.

"I am thinking, my dear friend, that you have some particular reason for playing the injured man, and I have read the whole tale of the Maccabees in some history or other of the Jews which you would now palm off upon the world as something new."