man."

"That depends on yourself."

"A few days will prove it."

"Be as quick as you can with it. Let only one thought possess your mind:
Melanie is now in Sarvoelgyi's house. The great spiritual delight it will
afford me to think of the hypocrite's death-face which that Pharisee
will make when that trivial woman discloses to him that the young man,
who is living in the neighborhood, is Loerincz Aronffy's son, can only be
surpassed by my anxiety for you, caused by his knowledge of the fact.
For, believe me, he will leave no stone unturned to prevent you, who
will remind him of that night when we spoke of great and little things,
from being able to strike root in this world. He will even talk Melanie
over."

Lorand, shrugging his shoulders, said with light-hearted indifference:

"Melanie is not the only girl on this earth."

"Well said. I don't care. You are my son: and she whom you bring here is
my daughter. Only bring her; the sooner the better."

"It will not take a week."

"Better still. If you want to act, act quickly. In such cases, either
quickly or not at all; either courageously or never."

"There will be no lack of courage."

Topandy spoke of marriage, Lorand of a pistol.

"Well in a week's time I shall be able to give my blessing on your
choice."

"Certainly."

Topandy did not wish to dive further into Lorand's secret. He suspected
the young fellow was choosing between two girls, and did not imagine
that he had already chosen a third:--the one with the down-turned
torch.[69]

Lorand during the following days was as cheerful as a bridegroom during
the week preceding his marriage--so cheerful!--as his father had been
the evening before his death.

[Footnote 69: The torch, which should have been held upright for the
marriage festivities, would be held upside down for the festivities of
death, just as the life would be reversed.]

The last day but one came: May again, but not so chilly as ten years
before. The air in the park was flower-perfumed, full of lark trills,
and nightingale ditties.

Czipra was chasing butterflies on the lawn.

Ever since Melanie had left the house, Czipra's sprightly mood had
returned. She too played in the lovely spring, with the playful birds of
song.

Lorand allowed her to draw him into her circle of playmates:

"How does this hyacinth look in my hair?"

"It suits you admirably, Czipra."

The gypsy girl took off Lorand's hat, and crowned it with a wreath