uble.

Though he never said a word, nor did Czipra, about the blow he had
received, and though when next they met they were the same towards one
another as they had ever been, Topandy ventured to make a jest at table
about this humorous scene, saying to Lorand:

"Balint, ask Czipra to repeat that prayer which she has learned from me:
but first seize her two hands."

"Oho!" threatened Czipra, her face burning red. "Just play some more of
your jokes upon me. Your lives are in my hands: one day I shall put
belladonna in the food, and poison us all together."

Topandy smilingly drew her towards him, smoothing her head; Czipra
sensitively pressed her master's hand to her lips, and covered it with
kisses;--then put him aside and went out into the kitchen,--to break
plates, and tear the servants' hair.

CHAPTER XVI

THAT RING

The tenth year came: it was already on the wane. And Lorand began to be
indifferent to the prescribed fatal hour.

He was in love.

This one thought drove all others from his mind. Weariness of life,
atheism, misanthropy,--all disappeared from his path like
will-o'-the-wisps before the rays of the sun.

And Melanie liked the young fellow in return.

She had no strong passions, and was a prudent girl, yet she confessed to
herself that this young man pleased her. His features were noble, his
manner gentle, his position secure enough to enable him to keep a wife.

Many a time did she walk with Lorand under the shade of the beautiful
sycamores, while Czipra sat alone beside her "czimbalom" and thrashed
out the old souvenirs of the plain,--alone.

Lorand found it no difficult task to remark that Melanie gladly
frequented the spots he chose, and listened cheerfully to the little
confessions of a sympathetic heart. Yet he was himself always
reserved.--And that ring was always there on her finger. If only that
magic band might drop down from there! Two years had already passed
since her father's death had thrown her into mourning; she had long
since taken off black dresses; nor could she complain against "the bread
of orphanhood." For Topandy supplied her with all that a woman holds
dear, just as if she had been his own child.

One afternoon Lorand found courage enough to take hold of Melanie's
hand. They were standing on a bridge that spanned the brook which was
winding through the park, and, leaning upon its railing, were gazing at
the flowers floating on the water--or perhaps at each