Chapter IV: The Earring

From the inn opposite Schramek's house lively sounds proceeded. I beg pardon, I ought to call it "hotel," at least, that is the name the inhabitants of Babaszek delighted in giving it, and the more aristocratic of them always patronized it in preference to the other inns. The gypsies from Pelsoec were there, and the sound of their lively music could be heard far and wide through the open windows. Handsome Slovak brides in their picturesque dresses, with their pretty white headgear, and younger girls with red ribbons plaited into their hair, all run in to join the dance, and if the room is too full, late-comers take up their position in the street and dance there.

But curiosity is even stronger than their love of dancing, and all at once the general hopping and skipping ceases, as Janos Fiala, the town-servant and crier, appears on the scene, his drum hung round his neck and his pipe in his mouth. He stops in front of the "hotel," and begins to beat his drum with might and main. What can have happened? Perhaps the mayor's geese have strayed? Ten or twelve bystanders begin to ply him with questions, but Fiala would not for the world take his beloved pipe out of his mouth, nor would he divulge state secrets before the right moment came. So he first of all beat his drum the required number of times, and then with stentorian voice, shouted the following:

"Be it known to all whom it may interest, that a gold earring, with a green stone in it (how was he to know it was called an emerald?), has been lost, somewhere between the brickfield and the church. Whoever will bring the same to the Town Hall will be handsomely rewarded."

Gyuri paused a moment at the sound of the drum, listened to the crier's words, and then smiled at the look of excitement on the peasant girls' faces.

"I wouldn't give it back if I found it," said one.

"I'd have a hairpin made of it," said another.

"Heaven grant me luck!" said a third, turning her eyes piously heavenward.

"Don't look at the sky, you stupid," said another; "if you want to find it look at the ground."

But as chance would have it, some one found it who would rather not have done so, and that some one was Gyuri Wibra. He had only walked a few steps, when a green eye seemed to smile up at him from the dust under his feet. He stooped and picked it up; it was the lost earring with the emerald in it. How tiresome, when he was in such a hurry! Why could not one of those hundreds of people at the fair have found it? But the green eye looked so reproachfully at him, that he felt he could not give way to his first impulse and throw it back into the dust, to be trampled on by the cattle from the fair. Who wore such fine jewelry here? Well, whoever it belonged to, he must take it to the Town Hall; it was only a few steps from there after all.

He turned in at the entrance to the Town Hall, where some watering-cans hung from the walls, and a few old rusty implements of torture were exhibited (_sic transit gloria mundi!_), went up the staircase, and entered a room where the Senators were all assembled round a green baize-covered table, discussing a serious and difficult question.

A most unpleasant thing had happened. One of the watchmen in the Liskovina wood (the property of the town) had arrived there breathlessly not long before, with the news that a well-dressed man had been found hanging on a tree in the wood; what was to be done with the body?

This was what was troubling the worthy Senators, and causing them to frown and pucker their foreheads. Senator Konopka declared that the correct thing to do was to bring the body to the mortuary chapel, and at the same time give notice of the fact to the magistrate, Mr. Mihaly Gery, so that he could tell the district doctor to dissect the body.

Galba shook his head. He was nothing if not a diplomat, as he showed in the present instance. He said he considered it would be best to say nothing about it, but to remove the body by night a little further on, to the so-called Kvaka Wood, which was in the Travnik district, and let _them_ find the body. Mravucsan was undecided which of the two propositions to accept. He hummed and hawed and shook his head, and then complained it was hot enough to stifle one, that he had gout in his hand, and that one leg of the Senators' table was shorter than the others. This latter was soon remedied by putting some old deeds under the short leg. Then they waited to see which side would have the majority, and as it turned out it was on Galba's side. But the Galba party was again subdivided into two factions. The strict Galba faction wanted the dead man's body transported to the Travnik district. The moderated Galba faction, headed by Andras Kozsehuba, would have been contented with merely taking down the body, and burying it under the tree; they wanted, at all costs, to prevent its being carried through the village to the cemetery, which would certainly be the case if the magistrate were informed of the circumstances. For if a suicide were carried through a place, that place was threatened with damage by hail!

"Superstitious rubbish!" burst out Konopka.

"Of course, of course, Mr. Konopka, but who is to help it if the people are so superstitious?" asked Senator Fajka, of the Kozsehuba faction.

Konopka wildly banged the table with his fat, be-ringed hand, upon which every one was quiet.

"It is sad enough to hear a Senator say such a thing! I can assure you, gentlemen, that the Lord will not send His thunder-clouds in our direction just on account of that poor dead body. He will not punish a thousand just men because one unfortunate man has given himself to the devil, especially as the dead man himself would be the only one not hurt by the hail!"

Mravucsan breathed freely again at these wise words, which certainly raised one's opinion of the magistrates; he hastened to make use of the opportunity, and as once the tiny wren, sitting on the eagle's wings, tried to soar higher than the eagle, so did Mravucsan try to rise above the Senators.

"What is true is true," he said, "and I herewith beg to call your attention to the fact that there is nothing to be feared from hail if we bring the body through the town."

Up sprang Mr. Fajka at these words.

"That is all the same to us," he said; "if matters stand so, let us have hail by all means, for when once all the villagers are insured by the Trieste Insurance Company, I see no difference whether there is hail or not. In fact, it would be better if there were some, for, if I know the villagers well, they will immediately go and insure the harvest far beyond its worth if the dead body is taken through the village. So the hail would not be such a great misfortune, but the carriage of the corpse through the village would be."

He was a grand debater after all, that Senator Fajka, for he had again hit the right nail on the head, and at the same time enlightened the Galba and the Kozsehuba factions.

"What a brain!" they exclaimed.

The word brain reminded Galba of the dissecting part of the business--per _associationem idearum_--and he at once began to discuss the point.

"Why dissect the man? We know who he is, for it is as plain as pie-crust that he is an agent for some Insurance Company, and has hanged himself here in our neighborhood in order to make people insure their harvest. It's as clear as day!"

"You are mad, Galba," said Konopka crossly.

Upon which the Senators all jumped up from their places, and then the noise broke forth, or, as Fiala, the town-servant and crier, used to say, "they began to boil the town saucepan," and every eye was fixed on the mayor, the spoon which was to skim the superfluous froth. But the mayor drew his head down into the dark blue collar of his coat, and seemed quite to disappear in it; he gnawed his mustache, and stood there helplessly, wondering what he was to say and do now, when all at once the door opened, and Gyuri Wibra stood before them. In spite of all folks may say, the powers above always send help at the right moment.

At sight of the stranger, who, an hour or two before, had wanted to buy an old umbrella of Mrs. Muencz, the mayor suddenly pushed back his chair and hurried toward him (let the Senators think he had some important business to transact with the new arrival).

"Ah, sir," he said hurriedly, "you were looking for me, I suppose?"

"If you are the mayor, yes."

"Of course, of course!" (Who else could be mayor in Babaszek but Mravucsan, he wondered?)

"They have been crying the loss of an earring, and I have found it. Here it is."

The mayor's face beamed with delight.

"Now that is real honesty, sir. That is what I like. This is the first earring that has been lost since I have been in office, and even that is found. That's what I call order in the district."

Then turning to the Senators, he went on:

"It is only an hour since I sent the crier round the town, and here we have the earring. They couldn't manage that in Budapest!"

Just then he noticed that the stranger was preparing to leave.

"Why, you surely don't mean to leave us already, sir? There is a reward offered for the finding of this earring."

"I do not want the reward, thank you."

"Oh, come, don't talk like that, young man, don't run away from luck when it comes in your way. You know the story of the poor man who gave his luck away to the devil without knowing it, and how sorry he was for it afterward?"

"Yes, he was sorry for it," answered the lawyer, smiling, as he remembered the fable, "but I don't think we can compare this case with that."

"I am sure you have no idea to whom the earring belongs?"

"Not the slightest. Whose is it?"

"It belongs to the sister of the Glogova priest."

Gyuri screwed up his mouth doubtfully.

"Don't be too quick in your conclusions; just come here a minute; you won't repent it."

"Where am I to go?"

"Come into the next room."

The mayor wanted to keep him there at any cost, so as to gain time before deciding as to the dead man's future.

"But, my dear sir, I have important business to get through."

"Never mind, you must come in for a minute," and with that he opened the door and all but pushed the young man into the other room.

"My dear young lady," he called out over Gyuri's shoulder, "I have brought you your earring!"

At these words a young girl turned from her occupation of putting cold-water bandages on the shoulder of an elderly lady, lying on a sofa. Gyuri was not prepared for this apparition, and felt as confused and uncomfortable as though he had committed some indiscretion. The elder woman, partly undressed, was lying on a sofa, her wounded right shoulder (a remarkably bony one) was bare. The young man at the door stammered some apology, and turned to go, but Mravucsan held him back.

"Don't go," he said, "they won't bite you!"

The young girl, who had a very pretty attractive face, hastened to throw a cloak over her companion, and sprang up from her kneeling position beside the lady. What a figure she had! It seemed to Gyuri as though a lily, in all its simple grandeur, had risen before him.

"This gentleman has found your earring, and brought it you back, my dear."

A smile broke over her face (it was as though a ray of sunlight had found its way into the mayor's dark office), she blushed a little, and then made a courtesy, a real schoolgirl courtesy, awkward, and yet with something of grace in it.

"Thank you, sir, for your kindness. I am doubly glad to have found it, for I had given up all idea of ever seeing it again."

And taking it in her hand she gazed at it lovingly. She was a child still, you could see it in every movement. Gyuri felt he ought to say something, but found no suitable words.

This child disconcerted him, but there was something delightful in her artless manner which quite charmed him. There he stood, helpless and speechless, as though he were waiting for something. Was it the reward he wanted? The silence was getting painful, and the position awkward. At last the girl saw that the young man did not move, so she broke the silence.

"Oh dear! I had nearly forgotten in my delight that I had offered ... I mean ... how am I to say it?"

It now occurred to Gyuri that she was offering him the reward, so he thought it time to make known his name.

"I am Dr. Wibra," he said, "from Besztercebanya."

"Oh, how lucky!" exclaimed the girl, clapping her hands gleefully. "We are just in want of a doctor for poor madame."

This little misunderstanding was just what was wanted. Gyuri smiled.

"I am very sorry, my dear young lady; I am not a doctor of medicine, but a doctor of law."

The young girl looked disappointed at this announcement, and blushed a little at her mistake; but Mravucsan was quite excited.

"What's that I hear? You are young Wibra, the noted lawyer? Well, that is nice! Who would have thought it? Now I understand. Of course, you are here to try and find out particulars about one of your cases. I might have thought of it when I met you at Mrs. Muencz's. Of course a gentleman like you must have some special reason for buying an old umbrella. Well, the fates must have sent you here now, for we are discussing such a very difficult question in the next room, that our minds are too small for it. How strange, Miss Veronica, that your earring should be found by such a renowned lawyer."

Veronica stole a look at the "renowned lawyer," and noticed for the first time how handsome he was, and how gentlemanly, and her heart began to beat at the thought that she had nearly offered him the five florins reward.

Mravucsan hastened to offer the lawyer a chair, and cast an anxious look round his office, and remarked with horror what an untidy state it was in; deeds lying about everywhere, coats and cloaks, belonging to the Senators, empty glasses and bottles, for they were in the habit of drinking a glass now and then when they had settled some particularly important business, which was quite right of them, for the truth that emanated from them must be replaced by a fresh supply, and as the Hungarians say: "There is truth in wine."

The sight of that office would really have discouraged Mr. Mravucsan if his eye had not at that moment fallen on the portrait of Baron Radvanszky, the lord lieutenant of the county, hanging on the wall in front of him. That, after all, lent some distinction to the room. He wished from his heart that the baron were there in person to see what an illustrious guest they were harboring. But as the baron was not present, he felt it devolved on him to express his satisfaction at the fact.

"I am a poor man," he said, "but I would not accept a hundred florins in place of the honor that is done to my poor office to-day. It is worth something to have the most renowned lawyer in the county, and the prettiest young lady ..."

"Oh, Mr. Mravucsan!" exclaimed Veronica, blushing furiously.

"Well," said Mravucsan, "what's true is true. One need not be ashamed of being pretty. I was good-looking myself once, but I was never ashamed of it. Besides, a pretty face is of great use to one, isn't it, Mr. Wibra?"

"Yes, it is a very lucky thing," answered Gyuri quickly.

Mravucsan shook his head.

"Let us simply say it is a great help, for luck can easily turn to misfortune, and misfortune to luck, as was the case now, for if it had not been for to-day's accident, I should not now have the pleasure of seeing you all here."

"What is that?" asked Gyuri. "An accident?"

Veronica was going to answer, but that talkative mayor put in his word again.

"Yes, there was an accident, but in a short time there will be no traces of it, for the earring is here, madame's shoulder is here, it will be blue for some days, but what the devil does that matter, it is not the color makes the shoulder. And the carriage will be all right, too, when the smith has mended it."

"So those horses that were running away with a broken carriage...?"

"Were ours," said Veronica. "They took fright near the brickfield, the coachman lost his hold of the reins, and when he stooped to gather them up, he was thrown out of the carriage. In our fright we jumped out too. I did not hurt myself, but poor madame struck her shoulder on something. I hope it will be nothing serious. Does it hurt very much, Madame Krisbay?"

Madame opened her small yellow eyes, which till then had been closed, and the first sight that met them was Veronica's untidy hair.

"Smooth your hair," she said in French in a low voice, then groaned once or twice, and closed her eyes again.

Veronica, greatly alarmed, raised her hand to her head, and found that one of her plaits was partly undone.

"Oh, my hair!" she exclaimed. "The hairpins must have fallen out when I jumped out of the carriage. What am I to do?"

"Let down the other plait," advised Mravucsan. "That's it, my dear; it is much prettier so, isn't it, Wibra?"

"Much prettier," answered Gyuri, casting an admiring glance at the two black, velvety plaits, with a lovely dark bluish tinge on them, which hung nearly down to the edge of her millefleurs skirt.

So that was the priest's sister. He could hardly believe it, for he had imagined a fat, waddling, red-faced woman, smelling of pomade. That is what parish priests' sisters are generally like. The lawyer thought it was time to start a conversation.

"I suppose you were very frightened?"

"Not very; in fact, I don't think I was startled at all. But now I begin to fear my brother will be anxious about me."

"The priest of Glogova?"

"Yes. He is very fond of me, and will be so anxious if we do not return. And yet I hardly know how we are to manage it."

"Well," said Mravucsan, consolingly, "we have the horses, and we will borrow a cart from some one."

Veronica shuddered and shook her head.

"With those horses? Never again!"

"But, my dear young lady, you must never take horses seriously, they have no real character. You see, this is how it was. Near the brickfield there is that immense windmill, for of course every town must have one. The world is making progress, in spite of all Senator Fajka says. Well, as I said, there is the windmill. I had it built, for every one made fun of us because we had no water in the neighborhood. So I make use of the wind. Of course, the horses don't understand that; they are good mountain horses, and had never seen a beast with such enormous wings, turning in the air, so of course they were frightened and ran away. You can't wonder at it. But that is all over now, and they will take you quietly home."

"No, no, I'm afraid of them. Oh, how dreadful they were! If you had only seen them! I won't go a step with them. As far as I am concerned, I could walk home, but poor Madame Krisbay ..."

"Now that would be a nice sort of thing to do," remarked Mravucsan. "Fancy my allowing my best friend's little sister to walk all the way home with those tiny feet of hers! How she would stumble and trip over the sharp stones in the mountain paths! And his reverence would say: 'My friend Mravucsan is a nice sort of fellow to let my sister walk home, after all the good dinners and suppers I have given him.' Why, I would rather take you home on my own back, my dear, right into Glogova parish!"

Veronica looked gratefully at Mravucsan, and Gyuri wondered, if it came to the point, would Mravucsan be able to carry out his plan, or would he have to be carried himself. The mayor was an elderly man, and looked as though he were breaking up. He found himself glancing curiously at the old gentleman, measuring his strength, the breadth of his chest, and of his shoulders, as though the most important fact now were, who was to take Veronica on his back. He decided that Mravucsan was too weak to do it, and smiled to himself when he discovered how glad this thought made him.

Mravucsan's voice broke in upon his musings.

"Well, my dear," he was saying, "don't you worry yourself about it; take a rest first, and then we will see what is to be done. Of course it would be better to have other horses, but where are we to get them from? No one in Babaszek keeps horses, we only need oxen. I myself only keep oxen. For a mountain is a mountain, and horses are of no use there, for they can, after all, only do what an ox can, namely, walk slowly. You can't make a grand show here with horses, and let them gallop and prance about, and toss their manes. This is a serious part, yes, I repeat it, a serious part. The chief thing is to pull, and that is the work of an ox. A horse gets tired of it, and when it knows the circumstances it loses all pleasure in life, and seems to say: 'I'm not such a fool as to grow for nothing, I'll be a foal all my life.' And the horses round about here are not much bigger than a dog, and are altogether wretched-looking."

He would have gone on talking all night, and running the poor horses down to the ground, if Gyuri had not interrupted him.

"But I have my dog-cart here, Miss Veronica, and will take you home with pleasure."

"Will you really," exclaimed Mravucsan. "I knew you were a gentleman. But why on earth didn't you say so before?"

"Because you gave me no chance to put in a word edgeways."

"That is true," laughed Mravucsan good-humoredly. "So you will take them?"

"Of course, even if I were not going to Glogova myself."

"Are you really going there?" asked Veronica, surprised.

"Yes."

She looked at him thoughtfully for a minute, and then said:

"Don't try to deceive us."

Gyuri smiled.

"On my word of honor, I intended going to Glogova. Shall we all go together?"

Veronica nodded her head, and was just going to clap her hands like the child she was, when madame began to move on the sofa, and gave a deep sigh.

"Oh dear," said Veronica, "I had quite forgotten madame. Perhaps after all I can't go with you."

"And why not? The carriage is big enough, there will be plenty of room."

"Yes, but may I?"

"Go home? Who is to prevent it?"

"Why, don't you know?"

"What?" asked Gyuri, surprised.

"Why, etiquette, of course," she said shyly.

(Gyuri smiled. Oh, what a little simpleton she was!)

"Yes, yes," she assured them, seeing they were laughing at her, "it says in the book on etiquette: 'You must not accept the arm of a stranger.'"

"But a carriage is not an arm," burst out Mravucsan. "How could it be? If it were, I should have two carriages myself. My dear child, leave etiquette to look after itself. In Babaszek I decide what is etiquette, not the French mamselles. And _I_ say a carriage is not an arm, so there's an end of it."

"Of course you are right, but all the same, I must speak to madame about it."

"Just as you like, my dear."

Veronica again knelt down by the sofa, and a whispered conversation ensued, the result of which was, as Gyuri understood from the few words he could hear, that madame quite shared Mravucsan's view of the case, that a carriage is not an arm, and that if two people have been introduced to each other, they are not strangers, and consequently, in Madame Krisbay's opinion, they ought to accept the young man's offer. Besides, in times of danger there is no such thing as etiquette. Beautiful Blanche Montmorency on the occasion of a fire was saved by the Marquis Privadiere with nothing on but her nightgown, and yet the tower of Notre Dame is still standing!

Gyuri felt as impatient as a card-player when the cards are being dealt, and a large stake has been placed on one of them, until at length Veronica turned round.

"We shall be very thankful if you will take us in your carriage," she said, smiling, as she was sure Blanche Montmorency would have done under the same conditions.

Gyuri received the announcement with delight.

"I will go and see after the carriage," he said, taking up his hat. But Mravucsan stood in his way.

"Oh, no, you don't," he said. "_Pro primo_, even if Veronica can go, I am sure Madame Krisbay cannot start yet; it would be a sin to make her drive now; she must rest a bit first, after her fright and her bruises. If my wife puts some of her wonderful plaster on it to-night, she'll be perfectly well in the morning. _Pro secundo_, you can't go because I won't allow you to. _Pro tertio_, because it is getting dark. Please look out of the window."

He was right; the sun had disappeared behind the dark blue lines of the Zolyom Hills, and the fir-trees in front of the Town Hall cast their long shadows down the road, right up to the Mravucsan garden, where a lean cat was performing its evening ablutions among the oleanders. All the same Gyuri began to plead (it was part of his business).

"It will be a quiet, warm night," he said. "Why should we not start? After all it can make no difference to madame whether she groans in bed or in the carriage."

"But it will be dark," objected Mravucsan, "and there are some very bad bits of road between here and Glogova, and two or three precipices. In spite of my being mayor, I cannot order moonlight for you."

"We don't need it; we can light the lamps."

Veronica seemed undecided, and glanced from one to the other of the gentlemen, till at length Mravucsan put in the finishing touch.

"There will be a storm to-night, for there is the dead body of a man hanging on a tree in the wood you have to pass through."

Veronica shuddered.

"I would not go through that wood by night for anything," she exclaimed.

That settled the question. Gyuri bowed, and received a bright smile in return, and Mravucsan rushed into the next room, and told Konopka to take his place (oh, his delight at getting rid of his responsibility!), as he had visitors, and had no time to think of other things; and then he whispered in the ears of some of the Senators (those who had on the best coats) that he would be pleased to see them to supper. Then off he trotted home, to announce the arrival of visitors, and give orders for their reception. On the staircase he caught sight of Fiala, and sent him to tell Wibra's coachman, who was waiting with the dog-cart outside Mrs. Muencz's shop, to go and put up in his courtyard.

After a few minutes, Mrs. Mravucsan appeared at the Town Hall to take the ladies home with her. She was a short, stout, amiable woman, whose broad, smiling face spoke of good temper and kindheartedness. She was dressed like all women of the middle class in that part, in a dark red skirt and black silk apron, and on her head she wore a black silk frilled cap.

She entered the room noisily, as such simple village folks do.

"Well, I never!" she exclaimed. "Mravucsan says you are going to be our guests. Is it true? What an honor for us! But I knew it, I felt it, for last night I dreamed a white lily was growing out of my basin, and this is the fulfilment of the dream. Well, my dear, get all your things together, and I'll carry them across, for I'm as strong as a bear. But I forgot to tell you the most important thing, which I really ought to have said at the beginning: I am Mrs. Mravucsan. Oh, my dear young lady, I should never have thought you were so pretty! Holy Virgin! Now I understand her sending down an umbrella to keep the rain off your pretty face! So the poor lady is ill, has hurt her shoulder? Well, I've got a capital plaster we'll put on it; come along. Don't give way, my dear, it has to be borne. Why, I had a similar accident once, Mravucsan was driving too. We fell into a ditch, and two of my ribs were broken, and I've had trouble with my liver ever since. Such things will happen now and then. Does it hurt you very much?"

"The lady does not speak Slovak," said Veronica, "nor Hungarian."

"Good gracious!" exclaimed Mrs. Mravucsan, clasping her hands. "So old, and can't even speak Hungarian! How is that?"

And Veronica was obliged to explain that madame had come direct from Munich to be her companion, and had never yet been in Hungary; she was the widow of a French officer, she added, for Mrs. Mravucsan insisted on having full particulars. They had received a letter from her the day before yesterday, saying she was coming, and Veronica had wanted to meet her at the station.

"So that is how it is. And she can't even speak Slovak nor Hungarian! Poor unhappy woman! And what am I to do with her?--whom am I to put next her at table?--how am I to offer her anything? Well, it will be a nice muddle! Luckily the schoolmaster can speak German, and perhaps the young gentleman can too?"

"Don't you worry about that, Mrs. Mravucsan, I'll amuse her at supper, and look after her wants," answered Gyuri.

With great difficulty they got ready to go, Madame Krisbay moaning and groaning as they tried to dress her, after having sent Gyuri into the passage. Mrs. Mravucsan collected all the shawls, rugs, and cloaks, and hung them over her arm.

"We will send the servant for the lady's box," she said.

Then she made madame lean on her, and they managed to get her downstairs. Madame was complaining, half in French, half in German, and the mayor's wife chatted continually, sometimes to the young couple walking in front, sometimes to madame, who, with her untidy hair, looked something like a poor sick cockatoo.

"This way, this way, my dear young lady. That is our house over there. Only a few more steps, my dear madame. Oh, the dog won't bite you. Go away, Garam! We shall be there directly. You will see what a good bed I will give you to sleep in to-night; such pillows, the softest you can imagine!"

It made no difference to her that Madame Krisbay did not understand a word of what she was saying. Many women talk for the sake of talking. Why should they not? They are probably afraid a spider might spin its web before their mouth.

"It hurts you, does it not? But it will hurt still more to-morrow; that is always the way with a bruise of that kind. Why, you will feel it in two weeks' time."

Then, casting a sly glance at the pair walking in front:

"They make a handsome couple, don't they?"

It was not far to the Mravucsans' house, and it would have been nearer still if there had not been an immense pool of water just in front of the Town Hall, to avoid which they had to go a good bit out of their way. But this pool was a necessity, for all the geese and ducks in the village swam on it, the pigs came and wallowed in the mud round it, and last, but not least, the firemen took their water from here in case of fire. Oh, I forgot to say that all the frogs from the whole neighborhood had taken up their abode in it, and gave splendid concerts to the villagers.

So, as I said before, they needed the pool and gladly put up with its presence, and it was considered common property. Once a civil engineer had been sent there by the county authorities, and he had called their attention to the fact that the pool ought to be filled up; but they just laughed at him, and left it as it was.

So now they had to go right round the pool to the "hotel," which strangers always named the "Frozen Sheep," in reference to the story I mentioned before. The gypsies were still playing inside, and outside several couples were turning in time to music, and some peasants were standing about drinking their glass of "palinka" (a kind of brandy), while a wagoner from Zolyom sat alone at a table drinking as hard as he could. He was already rather drunk, and was keeping up a lively conversation all by himself, gazing now and then with loving eyes at the lean horse harnessed to his cart, and which, with drooping head, was awaiting his master's pleasure to move on.

"My neighbor says," philosophized the wagoner aloud, "that my horse is not a horse. And why is it not a horse, pray? It was a horse in the time of Kossuth! What? It can't draw a load? Of course not, if the load is too heavy. It is thin, is it? Of course it is thin, for I don't give it any oats. Why don't I give it any? Why, because I have none, of course. What's that you say? The other day it couldn't drag my cart? No, because the wheel was stuck in the mud. My neighbor is a great donkey, isn't he?"

Upon which, up he got, and stumbled over to the dancers, requesting them to give their opinion as to whether his neighbor was a donkey or not. They got out of his way, so, like a mad dog, which sees and hears nothing, the wagoner rushed upon Madame Krisbay.

"Is mine a horse, or is it not?"

Madame was frightened, and the smell of brandy, which emanated from the good man, made her feel faint.

"_Mon Dieu!_" she murmured, "what a country I have come to!"

But Mrs. Mravucsan, gentle as she was generally, could also be energetic if necessary.

"I don't know if yours is a horse or not," she said, "but I can tell you you're a drunken beast!"

And with that she gave him a push which sent him rolling over on his back. He lay there murmuring:

"My neighbor says my horse is blind in one eye. Nonsense! He can see the road just as well with one eye as with two."

Then up he got, and began to follow them, and Madame Krisbay, leaving go of Mrs. Mravucsan's arm, and in her fright forgetting her wounded shoulder, took to her heels and ran. The dancers seeing her went into fits of laughter at the pair of thin legs she showed.

"How on earth can she run so fast with such thin legs?" they asked each other.

Still more surprised were Veronica and Gyuri (who had seen nothing of the incident with the wagoner); they could not imagine why the sick woman was running at the top of her speed.

"Madame! madame! What is the matter?"

She gave no answer, only rushed to the Mravucsans' house, where she again had a fright at the sight of three enormous watch-dogs, who received her with furious barks. She would have fallen in a faint on the floor, but at that moment Mravucsan appeared on the scene to receive his guests, so she fell into his arms instead. The good mayor just held her quietly, with astonished looks, for he had never yet seen a fainting woman, though he had heard they ought to be sprinkled with water, but how was he to go for water? Then he remembered he had heard that pinching was a good remedy, that it would, in fact, wake a dead woman; but in order to pinch a person, she must have some flesh, and Madame Krisbay had nothing but bones. So he waited with Christian patience till the others arrived on the scene, and then gave her up to their tender mercies.

"Phew!" he breathed, "what a relief!"

Intellectual Society in Babaszek