Chapter 59
"There will be no lack of courage."
Topandy spoke of marriage, Lorand of a pistol.
"Well in a week's time I shall be able to give my blessing on your choice."
"Certainly."
Topandy did not wish to dive further into Lorand's secret. He suspected the young fellow was choosing between two girls, and did not imagine that he had already chosen a third:--the one with the down-turned torch.[69]
Lorand during the following days was as cheerful as a bridegroom during the week preceding his marriage--so cheerful!--as his father had been the evening before his death.
[Footnote 69: The torch, which should have been held upright for the marriage festivities, would be held upside down for the festivities of death, just as the life would be reversed.]
The last day but one came: May again, but not so chilly as ten years before. The air in the park was flower-perfumed, full of lark trills, and nightingale ditties.
Czipra was chasing b.u.t.terflies on the lawn.
Ever since Melanie had left the house, Czipra's sprightly mood had returned. She too played in the lovely spring, with the playful birds of song.
Lorand allowed her to draw him into her circle of playmates:
"How does this hyacinth look in my hair?"
"It suits you admirably, Czipra."
The gypsy girl took off Lorand's hat, and crowned it with a wreath of leaves, then put it back again, changing its position again and again until she found out how it suited him best.
Then she pressed his hand under her arm, laid her burning face upon his shoulder, and thus strolled about with him.
Poor girl! She had forgotten, forgiven everything already!
Six days had pa.s.sed since that ruling rival had left the house: Lorand was not sad, did not pine after her, he was good-humored, witty, and playful; he enjoyed himself. Czipra believed their stars were once more approaching each other.
Lorand, the smiling and gay Lorand, was thinking that he had but one more day to live; and then--adieu to the perfumed fields, adieu to the songster's echo, adieu to the beautiful, love-lorn gypsy girl!
They
In this place her hand had been in his: in that place she had said of the lost ring "leave it alone:" in that place he had clasped her in his arms!
And to-morrow even that would cause no pain!
Topandy now joined them.
"Do you know what, Lorand?" said the old Manichean cheerily: "I thought I would accompany you this afternoon to Szolnok. We must celebrate the day you meet your brother: we must drink to it!"
"Will you not take me with you?" inquired Czipra half in jest.
"No!" was the simultaneous reply from both sides.
"Why not?"
"Because it is not fit for you _there_.--There is no room for you _there_!"
Both replied the same.
Topandy meant "You cannot take part in men's carousals; who knows what will become of you?" while Lorand--meant something else.
"Well, and when will Lorand return?" inquired Czipra eagerly.
"He must first return to his parents," answered Topandy.
(--"Thither indeed" thought Lorand, "to father and grandfather"--)
"But he will not remain _there_ forever?"
At that both men laughed loudly. What kind of expression was that word "forever" in one's mouth? Is there a measure for time?
"What will you bring me when you return?" inquired the girl childishly.
Lorand was merciless enough to jest: he tore down a leaf which was round, like a small coin; placing that on the palm of her hand, he said:
"Something no greater than the circ.u.mference of this leaf."
Two understood that he meant "a ring," but what he meant was a "bullet"
in the centre of his forehead.
How pitiless are the jests of a man ready for death.
Their happy dalliance was interrupted by the butler who came to announce that a young gentleman was waiting to speak with Master Lorand.
Lorand's heart beat fast! It must be Desi!
Had he not received the letter? Had he not acceded to his brother's request? He had after all come one day sooner than his deliberate permission had allowed.
Lorand hastened up to the castle.
Topandy called after him:
"If it is a good friend of yours bring him down here into the park: he must dine with us."
"We shall wait here by the bridge," Czipra added: and there she remained on the bridge, she did not herself know why, gazing at those plants on the surface of the water, that were hiding Melanie's ring.
Lorand hastened along the corridors in despondent mood: if his brother had really come, his last hours would be doubly embittered.
That simulation, that comedy of cynical frivolity, would be difficult to play before him.
The new arrival was waiting for him in the reception room.
When Lorand opened the door and stood face to face with him, an entirely new surprise awaited him.