Part 22 (2/2)

My dear only mother! thou saint, thou martyr! who sufferest, weepest, and anguishest so much for my sake, while I mix in a society where they mock women, and mothers! Canst thou forgive me?

When I had cried myself out, my face was covered with tears. Henrik raised me from my seat upon the floor.

”Give me this letter,” I panted; and I kissed him for giving it to me.

Many great historical doc.u.ments have been torn up since then, but that letter is still in my possession.

”Now I cannot go to bed. I will stay up until morning and finish the work I have neglected. I thank you for what you have written in my stead, but I cannot accept it. I shall do it myself. I shall do everything in which I am behindhand.”

”Good, Desi, my boy, but you see our candle has burned down; and grandmother is already asleep, so I cannot ask her for one. Still, if you do wish to sit up, go down to the bakehouse, they are working all night, as to-morrow is Sat.u.r.day: take your ink, paper, and books with you. There you can write and learn your lessons.”

I did so. I descended to the court, washed my head beside the fountain, then took my books and writing material and descended to the bakehouse, begging Marton to allow me to work there by lamp-light. Marton irritated me the whole night with his satire, the a.s.sistants jostled me, and drove me from my place; they sang the ”Kneading-trough” air, and many other street-songs: and amid all these abominations I studied till morning; what is more, I finished all my work.

That night, I know, was one of the turning-points in my life.

Two days later came Sunday: I met Pepi in the street.

”Well, old fellow: are you not coming to-day to see little Melanie?

There will be a great dance-rehearsal.”

”I cannot: I have too much to do.”

Pepi laughed loudly. ”Very well, old fellow.”

His laughter did not affect me in the least.

”But when you have learned all there is to learn will you come again?”

”No. For then I shall write a letter to my mother.”

Some good spirit must have whispered to this fellow not to laugh at these words, for he could not have antic.i.p.ated the box on the ears I would have given him, because he could not for an instant forget that I was a grammar-school boy, and he a first-year law student.

CHAPTER VII

THE SECRET WRITINGS

One evening Lorand came to me and laid before me a bundle of papers covered with fine writing.

”Copy this quite clearly by to-morrow morning. Don't show the original to any one, and, when you have finished, lock it up in your trunk with the copy, until I come for it.”

I set to work in a moment and never rose from my task until I had completed it.

Next morning Lorand came for it, read it through, and said: ”Very good,”

handing me two pieces of twenty.

”What do you mean?”

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