ns of Lorand's eyes.

How those eyes feasted themselves every day on Melanie's countenance!

Of course, who could be indignant if men's eyes were attracted by the
"beautiful?" It has ever been their privilege.

But it is the marvellous gift of woman's eyes to be able to tell the
distinction between look and look. Through the prism of jealousy the
eye-beam is refracted to its primary colors; and this wonderful optical
analysis says: this is the twinkle of curiosity, that the coquettish
ogle, this the fire of love, that the dark-blue of abstraction.

Czipra had not studied optics, but this optical analysis she understood
very well.

She did not seem to be paying attention; it seemed as if she did not
notice, as if her eyes were not at work; yet she saw and knew
everything.

Lorand's eyes feasted upon the beautiful maiden's figure.

Every time he saw her, they dwelt upon her: as the bee feasts upon the
invisible honey of the flower, and slowly a suspicion dawned upon
Czipra. Every glance was a home-returning bee who brings home the honey
of love to a humming heart.

Besides, Czipra might have known it from the fact that Lorand, ever
since Melanie came to the house, had been more reserved towards her. He
had found his presence everywhere more needful, that he might be so much
less at home.

Czipra could not bear the agony long.

Once finding Lorand alone, she turned to him in wanton sarcasm.

"It is certain, my friend Balint," (that was Lorand's alias) "that we
are casting glances at that young girl in vain, for she has a fiance
already."

"Indeed?" said Lorand, caressing the girl's round chin, for all the
world as if he was touching some delicate flower-bud.

"Why all this tenderness at once? If I were to look so much at a girl, I
would long ago have taken care to see if she had a ring on her
finger:--it is generally an engagement ring."

"Well, and do I look very much at that girl?" enquired Lorand in a
jesting tone.

"As often as I look at you."

That was reproach and confession all in one. Czipra tried to dispose of
the possible effect of this gentle speech at once, by laughing
immediately.

"My friend Balint! That young lady's fiance is a very great man. The
favorite of foreign princes, rides in a carriage, and is called 'My
Lord.' He is a very handsome man, too: though not so handsome as you. A
fine, pretty cavalier."

"I congratulate her!" said Lorand, smiling.

"Of course it is true; Melani