e of this cold, clean, transparent dream is now that hot chaos.
What should he do now that he wished to live, to enjoy life, to see
happy days?

Wherever he would go, in the street, in the field, in the house,
everywhere he would feel himself walking in that labyrinth; everywhere
that endless chain would clank after him, which began again where it had
ended.

He did not even notice, when some one passed him, whether he greeted him
or not.

To escape, to exchange his word of honor for his life, to shut out the
whole world from his secret--what has pride to say to that?--what the
memory of the father who in a like case bowed before his self-pride and
cast his life and happiness as a sacrifice before the feet of his honor?
What would the tears of the two mothers say?--how could tender-handed
love fight alone against so strong adversaries?

How could Balint Tatray shake off from himself that whole world which
cleaved like a sea of mud to Lorand Aronffy?

As he proceeded in deep reflection beside the village houses, his hat
pressed firmly down over his eyes, he did not even notice that from the
other direction a lady was crossing the rough road, making straight for
him, until as she came beside him she addressed him with affected
gaiety:

"Good day, Lorand."

The young fellow, startled at hearing his name, looked up amazed and
gazed into the speaker's face.

She, with the cheery smile of undoubted recognition, grasped his hand.

"Yes, yes! I recognized you again after so long a time had passed,
though you know me no more, my dear Lorand."

Oh! Lorand knew her well enough! And that woman--was Madame
Balnokhazy....

Her face still possessed the beautiful noble features of yore; only in
her manner the noblewoman's graceful dignity had given way to a certain
unpleasant freedom which is the peculiarity of such women as are often
compelled to save themselves from all kinds of delicate situations by
humorous levity.

She was dressed for a journey, quite fashionably, albeit a little
creased.

"You here?" inquired Lorand, astonished.

"Certainly: quite by accident. I have just left my carriage at the
Sarvoelgyi's. I have won a big suit in chancery, and have come to the
'old man' to see if I could sell him the property, which he said he was
ready to purchase. Then I shall take my daughter home with me."

"Indeed?"

"Of course--poor thing, she has lived long enough in orphan state in the
house of a half-madman. B