ut even then some sweet enchantment overcomes his heart when he
steps over the threshold of that quiet dwelling where a loving mother's
guardian hand has protected every souvenir of his childhood,--so that he
finds everything as he left it long ago, and sees and feels that, while
he has lived through the changing events of a period in his life, that
loving heart has still clung to that last moment, and that the
intervening time has been but as the eternal remembrance of one hour
spent within those walls.

There are his childhood's toys piled up; he would love to sit down once
more among them, and play with them: there are the books that delighted
his childhood's days; he would love to read them anew, and learn again
what he had long forgotten, what was in those days such great knowledge.

Lorand spent a happy week at home, in the course of which Mrs. Fromm
took Fanny back to Pressburg.

As Desiderius had asked for Fanny's hand, it was only proper that he
should take his bride away from her parents' house.

One week later the whole Aronffy family started to fetch the bride; only
Desiderius' mother remained at home.

In the little house in Prince's Avenue the same old faces all awaited
them, only they were ten years older. Old Marton hastened, as erstwhile,
to open the carriage door; only his moving crest was as white as that of
a cockatoo. Father Fromm, too, was waiting at the door, but could no
longer run to meet his guests, for his left arm and leg were paralyzed:
he leaned upon a long bony young man, who had spent much pains in trying
to twist into a moustache by the aid of cunning unguents the few hairs
on his upper lip, that would not under any circumstances consent to
grow. It was easy to recognize Henrik in the young fellow who would
have loved so much to smile, only that cursed waxed moustache would not
allow his mouth to open very far.

"Welcome, welcome," sounded from all sides. Father Fromm opened his arms
to receive the grandmother: Henrik leaped on to Desiderius' neck, while
old Marton slouched up to Lorand, and, nudging him with his elbows, said
with a humorous smile, "Well, no harm came of it, you see."

"No, old fellow. And I have to thank this good stick for it," said
Lorand, producing from under his coat Marton's walking stick, for which
he had had made a beautiful silver handle in place of the previous
dog's-foot.

The old fellow was beside himself with delight that they thought so much
of his