that moment she gazed upon me with such disheartening pride
that in terror I withdrew my hand from my glass. It was probably this
hesitating movement of mine that attracted the P. C.'s attention, for he
deigned to turn to me with the following condescending remark (intended
perhaps for an offer):

"Well, nephew, won't you try this wine?" With undismayed determination I
answered:

"No."

"Perhaps you don't wish to drink wine?"

Cato did not utter the phrase "Victrix causa diis placuit, sed victa
Catoni," with more resolution than that with which I answered:

"Never!"

"Oho! you will never drink wine? We shall see how you keep your word in
the course of time!"

And that is why I kept my word. Till to-day I have never touched wine.
Probably that first fit of obstinacy caused my determination; in a word,
slighted in the first glass, I never touched again any kind of pressed,
distilled, or burnt beverage. So perhaps my house lost in me an
after-dinner celebrity.

"Don't be ashamed, nephew," encouragingly continued my uncle; "this wine
is allowed to the young also, if they dip choice Pressburg biscuits in
it; it is a very celebrated biscuit, prepared by M. Fromm."

My blood rose to my cheeks. M. Fromm! My host! Immediately the
conversation will turn upon him, and they will mention that I am living
with him; furthermore, they will relate that he has a little pug-nosed
daughter, that they are going to exchange me with her. I should sink
beneath the earth for very shame before my cousin Melanie! And surely,
one has only to fear something and it will indeed come to pass.
Grandmother was thoughtless enough to discover immediately what I wished
to conceal, with these words:

"Desiderius is going to live with that very man."

"Ha ha!" laughed uncle, in high humor (his laughter penetrated my very
marrow). "With the celebrated 'Zwieback'[20] baker! Why, he can teach my
nephew to bake Pressburg biscuits."

[Footnote 20: Biscuit.]

How I was scalded and reduced to nothing, how I blushed before Melanie!
The idea of my learning to bake biscuits from M. Fromm! I should never
be able to wash myself clean of that suspicion.

In my despair I found myself looking at Lorand. He also was looking at
me. His gaze has remained lividly imprinted in my memory. I understood
what he said with his eyes. He called me coward, miserable, and
sensitive, for allowing the jests of great men to bring blushes to my
cheeks. He was a democrat