Chapter 51
Melanie answered this question merely with her eyes. But Czipra might have been content with the answer. He was at any rate as handsome a man in Melanie's eyes as Lorand was in hers.
"Shall you be his wife?"
At this question Melanie held up her fine left hand before Czipra, raising the fourth finger higher than the rest. On it was a ring.
Czipra drew the ring off her finger and looked closely at it. She saw letters inside it. If she only knew those!
"Is this his name?"
"His initials."
"He is called?"
"Joseph Gyali."
Czipra put the ring on again. She was very contented with this discovery. The ring of an old love, who was a handsome man, excellent, and celebrated, was there on her finger. Peace was hallowed. Now she believed thoroughly in Melanie, she believed that the indifference Melanie showed towards Lorand was no mere pretence. The field was already occupied by another.
But if she was quite at rest as regards Melanie, she could be less a.s.sured as to the peaceful intentions of Lorand's eyes.
How those eyes feasted themselves every day on Melanie's countenance!
Of course, who could be indignant if men's eyes were attracted by the "beautiful?" It has ever been their privilege.
But it is the marvellous gift of woman's eyes to be able to tell the distinction between look and look. Through the prism of jealousy the eye-beam is refracted to its primary colors; and this wonderful optical a.n.a.lysis says: this is the twinkle of curiosity, that the coquettish ogle, this the fire of love, that the dark-blue of abstraction.
Czipra had not studied optics, but this optical a.n.a.lysis she understood very well.
She did not seem to be paying attention; it seemed as if she did not notice, as if her eyes were not at work; yet she saw and knew everything.
Lorand's eyes feasted upon the beautiful maiden's figure.
Every time he saw her, they dwelt upon her: as the bee feasts upon the invisible honey of the flower, and slowly a suspicion dawned upon Czipra. Every glance was a home-returning bee who brings home the honey of love to a humming heart.
Besides, Czipra might have known it from the fact that Lorand, ever since Melanie came to the house, had been more reserved towards her. He had found his presence everywhere more needful, that he might be so much less at home.
Czipra could not bear the agony long.
Once finding Lorand alone, she turned to him in wanton sarcasm.
"It is certain, my friend Balint," (that was Lorand's alias) "that we are casting glances at that young girl in vain, for she has a fiance already."
"Indeed?" said Lorand, caressing the girl's round chin, for all the world as if he was touching some delicate flower-bud.
"Why all this tenderness at once? If I were to look so
"Well, and do I look very much at that girl?" enquired Lorand in a jesting tone.
"As often as I look at you."
That was reproach and confession all in one. Czipra tried to dispose of the possible effect of this gentle speech at once, by laughing immediately.
"My friend Balint! That young lady's fiance is a very great man. The favorite of foreign princes, rides in a carriage, and is called 'My Lord.' He is a very handsome man, too: though not so handsome as you. A fine, pretty cavalier."
"I congratulate her!" said Lorand, smiling.
"Of course it is true; Melanie herself told me.--She told me his name, too--Joseph Gyali."
"Ha, ha, ha!"
Lorand, smilingly and good-humoredly pinching Czipra's cheek, went on his way. He smiled, but with the poisonous arrow sticking in his heart!
Oh, Czipra did herself a bad turn when she mentioned that name before Lorand!
CHAPTER XV
IF HE LOVES, THEN LET HIM LOVE!
Lorand's whole being revolted at what Czipra had told him. That girl was the bride of that fatal adversary! of that man for whose sake he was to die! And that man would laugh when they stealthily transferred him, the victim too sensible of honor, to the crypt, when he would dance with his newly won bride till morning dawned, and delight in the smile of that face, which could not even weep for the lost one.
That thought led to eternal d.a.m.nation. No, no: not to d.a.m.nation: further than that, there and back again, back to that unspeakable circle, where feelings of honor remain in the background, and moral insensibility rules the day. That thought was able to drive out of Lorand's heart the conviction, that when an honorable man has given his life or his honor into the hands of an adversary, of the two only the latter can be chosen.
From that hour he pursued quite a different path of life.
Now the work in the fields might go on without his supervision: there was no longer such need of his presence. He had far more time for staying at home.
Nor did he keep himself any farther away from the girls: he went after them and sought them; he was spirited in conversation, choice in his dress, and that he might display his shrewdness, he courted both girls at the same time, the one out of courtesy, the other for love.
Topandy watched them smilingly. He did not mind whatever turn the affair took. He was as fond of Czipra as he was of Melanie, and fonder of the boy than either. Of the three there would be only one pair; he would give his blessing to whichever two should come together. It was a lottery! Heaven forbid that a strange hand should draw lots for one.
But Czipra was already quite clear about everything, It was not for her sake that Lorand stayed at home.
She herself was forced to acknowledge the important part which Melanie played in the house, with her thoughtful, refined, modest behavior; she was so sensible, so clever in everything. In the most delicate situation she could so well maintain a woman's dignity, while side by side she displayed a maiden's innocence. When his comrades were at the table, Topandy strove always by ambiguous jokes, delivered in his cynical, good humor, to bring a blush to the cheeks of the girls, who were obliged to do the honors at table; on such occasions Czipra noisily called him to order, while Melanie cleverly and spiritedly avoided the arrow-point of the jest, without opposing to it any foolish prudery, or cold insensibility;--and how this action made her queen of every heart!
Without doubt she was the monarch of the house: the dearest, most beautiful, and cleverest;--hers was every triumph.
And on such occasions Czipra was desperate.
"Yet all in vain! For, however clever, and beautiful, and enchanting that other, I am still the real one. I feel and know it:--but I cannot prove it! If we could only tear out our hearts and compare them;--but that is impossible."
Czipra was forced to see that everybody sported with her, while they behaved seriously with that other.
And that completely poisoned her soul.
Without any mental refinement, supplied with only so much of the treasure of moral reserve, as nature and instinct had grafted into her heart, with only a dreamy suspicion about the lofty ideas of religion and virtue, this girl was capable of murdering her whom they loved better than herself.