Part 71 (1/2)

Melanie, fortunately, did not hear this, for Lorand just then entertained her with a wonderful story: how that, curiously enough, when the young lady had been at Topandy's, the hyacinths had been covered with lovely cl.u.s.ters of fairy bells, and how, one week later, their place had been taken by ugly cl.u.s.ters of berries. How could flowers change so suddenly?

”Very well,” said Madame Balnokhazy, ”let us admit that when Gyali and aronffy were students together, the one played the traitor on the other.

What happened then?”

”I only learned last night what really happened. That evening I was on a visit to Lorand, and found Gyali there. They appeared to be joking. They playfully disputed as to who, at the farewell dance, was to be the partner of that very honorable lady, who may often be seen in your company. The two students disputed in my presence as to who was to dance with the 'aunt.'”

”Of course, as a piece of unusual good fortune.”

”Naturally. As neither wished to give the other preference, they finally decided to entrust the verdict to lot; on the table was a small piece of paper, the only writing material to be found in Lorand's room after a careful rummaging, as all the rest had just been burned. This piece of lilac-colored paper was torn in two, and both wrote one name: these two pieces they put in a hat and called upon me to draw out one. I did so and read out Lorand's name.”

”Do you intend to relate how your brother enjoyed himself at that dance?”

Melanie had not heard anything.

”I have no intention of saying a single word more about that day--and I shall at once leap over ten years. But I must hasten to explain that the drawing had nothing to do with dancing with the 'aunt' but was the lottery of an 'American duel' caused by a conflict between Gyali and Lorand.”

Desiderius did not remark how the coppery spots on Sarvolgyi's face swelled at the words ”American duel,” and then how they lost their color again.

”One moment, my dear boy,” interrupted Madame Balnokhazy. ”Before you continue: allow me to ask one question: is it customary to speak in society of duels that have not yet taken place?”

”Certainly, if one of the princ.i.p.als has by his cowardly conduct made the duel impossible.”

”Cowardly conduct?” said Madame Balnokhazy, darting a piercing side glance at Lorand. ”That applies to you.”

But Lorand was just relating to Melanie how the day-before-yesterday, when the beautiful moonlight shone upon the piano, which had remained open as the young lady had left it, soft fairy voices began suddenly to rise from it. Though that was surely no spirit playing on the keys, but Czipra's tame white weasel that, hunting night moths, ran along them.

”Yes,” said Desiderius in answer to the lady. ”One of the princ.i.p.als who accepted the condition gave evidence of such conduct on that occasion as must shut him out from all honorable company. Gyali wrote in forged writing on that ticket the name of Lorand instead of his own.”

Madame Balnokhazy incredulously pursed her lips.

”How can you prove that?”

”I did not cast into the fire, as Gyali bade me, the two tickets, but in their stead the dance programme I had brought with me, the two tickets I put away and have kept until to-day, suspecting that perhaps there might be some rather important reason for this calculating slyness.”

”Pardon me; but a very serious charge is being raised against an absent person, who cannot defend himself, and to defend whom is therefore the duty of the next and nearest person, even at the price of great indulgence. Have you any proof, any authentic evidence, that either one of the tickets you have kept is forged?”

Madame Balnokhazy had gone to great extremes in doubting the faithfulness and truth-telling of a man,--but rather too far. She had to deal with a barrister.

”The similarity admits of no doubt, Madame. Since these two slips are nothing but two halves that fit together, of that same letter in which Lorand's good-hearted fairy informed him of Gyali's treachery; on the opposite side of the slips is still to be seen the handwriting of that deeply honored lady: the date and watermark are still on them.”

Madame's bosom heaved with anger. This youth of twenty-three had annihilated her just as calmly, as he would have burnt that piece of paper of which they were speaking.

Desiderius quietly produced his pocket-book and rummaged for the fatal slips of paper.

”Never mind. I believe it,” panted Madame Balnokhazy, whose face in that moment was like a furious Medusa head. ”I believe what you say. I have no doubts about it:” therewith she rose from her seat and turned to the window.

Desiderius too rose from his chair, seeing the sitting was interrupted, but could not resist the temptation of pouring out the overflowing bitterness of his heart before somebody; and, as Madame was displeased and Melanie was chatting with Lorand of trifles, he was obliged to address his words directly to his only hearer, to Sarvolgyi, who remained still sitting, like one enchanted, while his gaze rested ever upon Desiderius' face. This face, drunken with rage and terror, could not tear itself from the object of its fears.

”And this fellow has allowed his dearest friend to go through life for ten years haunted with the thought of death, has allowed him to hide himself in strangers' houses, avoiding his mother's embraces. It did not occur to him once to say 'Live on; don't persecute yourself; we were children, we have played together. I merely played a joke on you.'...”

Sarvolgyi turned livid with a deathly pallor.