Part 36 (2/2)

”You will agree, will you not, to f.a.n.n.y's staying a little longer with me? She is already like a child of my own.”

I was no longer jealous of f.a.n.n.y. I saw how happy she made mother, if she could embrace her.

f.a.n.n.y again whispered something in mother's ear, at which mother rose, and seemed quite herself again: she approached Mrs. Fromm resolutely, with no faltering steps, and grasping both her hands, said, ”I thank you,” and once again repeated whisperingly, ”I thank you.”

All this I regarded speechlessly from a corner. I feared my mother's gaze inexpressibly.

Then grandmother interrupted,

”We have no time to lose, my daughter. If you are capable of coming at once, come.”

Mother nodded a.s.sent with her head, and gazed continually upon f.a.n.n.y.

”Meanwhile f.a.n.n.y remains here,” added grandmother. ”But Desiderius comes with us.”

At these words mother looked at me, as if it had only just occurred to her that I too was here, still it was f.a.n.n.y's fair curls only that she continued stroking.

Father Fromm hurriedly sent Henrik for a cab. Not a soul asked us where we were going. Everyone wondered, where, and why? What purpose? But, only I knew what would be the end of to-day's journey.

I did not distress myself about it. I waited merely until my turn should come. I knew nothing could happen without me.

The cab was there, and the Fromms led mother down the steps. They set her down first of all, and, when we were all seated; Father Fromm called to the cabman:

”To the house of Balnokhazy!”

He knew well that we must go there now. During the whole journey there we did not exchange a single word: what could those two have said to me?

When we stopped before Balnokhazy's residence, it seemed to me, my mother was endowed with a quite youthful strength; she went before us, her face burning, her step elastic, her head carried on high.

I don't know whether it was our good fortune, or whether my parents'

arrival had been announced previously, but the P. C. was at home, when we came to look for him.

I was curious to see with what countenance he would receive us.

I knew already much about him, that I ought never to have known.

As we stepped into his room, he came to meet us, with more courtesy than pleasure apparent on his countenance. Some kind of displeasure strove to display itself thereon, but it was just as if he had studied the expression for hours in the mirror; it seemed to be an artificial, affected, calculated displeasure.

Mother straightway hastened to him, and taking both his hands, impetuously introduced the conversation with these words:

”Where is my son Lorand?”

My right honorable uncle shrugged his shoulders, and with gracious mien answered this mother's pa.s.sionate outburst:

”My dear lady cousin, it is I who ought to urge that question; for it is my duty to prosecute your son. And if I answer that I do not know where he is, I think thereby I shall display the most kinsmanlike feeling.”

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