Part 6 (2/2)
”All men act very much in the same way when they are in love,” said Irma sententiously. ”But I don't believe that you are really in love with Elsa.”
He shrugged his shoulders, and laughed, a short, sarcastic, almost cruel laugh.
”Perhaps not,” he said. ”But I want her for my wife all the same.”
”Only because she is the noted beauty of the countryside, and because half the village wanted her.”
”Precisely,” he said with a sneer; ”there was a good deal of bidding for Elsa, eh, Irma neni? So you elected to give her to the highest bidder.”
”You had been courting her longer than anybody,” rejoined Irma, who this time chose to ignore his taunt.
”And I would have won her sooner--on my own--even without your help, if it had not been for that accursed Andor.”
”Well! he is dead now, anyway. All doubts, I suppose, are at rest on that point.”
”There are a few fools still left in the village who maintain that he will turn up some day.”
”We all hope he will, because of Lakatos Pal. The poor man is fretting himself into his grave, since he has realized that when he dies his money and land must all go to the Government.”
”He can sell his land and distribute his money while he lives,” retorted Bela; ”but you won't catch him doing that--the old miser.”
”Can't anything more be done?--about Andor, I mean.”
”Of course not,” he said impatiently; ”everything that could be done has been done. It's no use going on having rows by post with the War Office about the proofs of a man's death who has been food for worms these past two years.”
”Well! you know, Bela, people here are not satisfied about those proofs.
I, for one, never held with those who would not believe in Andor's death; there are plenty of folk in the village--and Pater Bonifacius is one of them--who swear that he will come home one of these days--perhaps when Pali bacsi is dead. And then he would find himself the richest man in the Commune,” she added, not without a point of malice, ”richer even than you, my good Bela.”
”Hold your tongue, you old fool!” broke in Bela savagely, as once more the sinister leer which hovered round his sightless eye was turned toward Elsa.
”Didn't I say that I, for one, never believed that rubbish?” retorted Irma sullenly; ”and haven't I preached to her about it these past two years? But you needn't be afraid,” she added, as she turned once more to her stewing-pot, ”she didn't hear what I said. When she talks or sings to her father you might shoot off a cannon--she wouldn't hear it. You may say what you like just now, Bela, she'll not listen.”
”Oho!” said Bela, even as a curious expression of obstinacy, not unmixed with cruelty, crept into his colourless face, ”you seem to forget, Irma neni, that the rest of Elsa's life will have to be spent in listening to me. We'll soon see about that.”
”Elsa!” he called peremptorily.
Then, as indeed the girl appeared not to hear, but went on softly crooning and singing to the helpless invalid like a mother to its babe, the young man worked himself up into a pa.s.sion of fury. The veins in his pale forehead and temples swelled up visibly, the glitter in his one eye became more cruel and more menacing, finally he brought his clenched fist once more cras.h.i.+ng down upon the table, even while he rose to his feet, as if to give fuller meaning to his future marital authority.
”Elsa!” he shouted once more, hoa.r.s.ely. ”Elsa, do you hear what I say?”
CHAPTER VI
”I don't wish to marry; not yet.”
The girl thus roughly apostrophized turned slowly round. She seemed neither hurt nor even surprised at the young man's exhibition of temper.
In her blue eyes there was a strange look--one which had lately been habitual to her, but which neither her mother nor Bela were able to interpret: it was a look which conveyed the thought of resignation or indifference or both, but also one which was peculiarly lifeless, as of a soul who had touched the cold hand of despair.
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