history and no fable, he
must describe externals in detail, that they may see what an eye-witness
he was.--Well, I shall leave out all description of the horses'
trappings.

"As the long convoy proceeded up the street, a carriage drawn by four
horses clattered up from the opposite end, a county court official
beside the coachman, behind, two gentlemen, one lean, the other
thickset.

"When this equipage met the wedding procession, the lean gentleman
stopped his carriage and called out to Sarvoelgyi's coachman to bring his
coach to a standstill.

"The lean man leaped down from his carriage, the stout man after him,
the official following them, and stepped up to the bridegroom.

"'Are you Joseph Gyali?' inquired the lean man, without any prefix.

"'I am,' he said, looking at the dust-covered man with angry hauteur,
not comprehending by what right anyone could dare to stop him at such a
time and to address him so curtly.

"But the lean man seized the door of the carriage and said to the
bridegroom:

"'Well, sir, have you any soul?'

"Our dear friend could not comprehend what new form of greeting it was,
to ask a man on the road whether he had a soul.

"But the lean man seemed to wish to know that at any cost.

"'Sir, have you any soul?'

"'What?'

"Have you any soul, that you can lead an innocent maiden to the altar,
in the position in which you are?'

"'Who are you? And how dare you to address me?'

"'I am Miklos Daruszegi, county court magistrate, and have come to
arrest you, in consequence of a proclamation of the High Court of
Justice in Vienna, which has sent us instructions to arrest you wherever
you may be found on the charge of several forgeries and deceits, _in
flagrante_, and not to accept bail!'

"'But, sir--!'

"'There is no chance for resistance. You knew already in Vienna to what
charge you were liable, and you came directly to Hungary in the hope
that if you could ally yourself with some propertied lady, your
honorable person might be defended, thus practising fresh deceit against
others. And now again I ask you, whether you have the soul to wish, on
the prison's threshold, to drag an innocent maiden with you?'"

"Poor Melanie!"--whispered Lorand.

"Poor Melanie naturally fainted, and the poor P. C.'s widow was beside
herself with rage: poor Sarvoelgyi wept like a child: all the guests
fled back to the house, and the bridegroom was compelled to descend from
the bridal coach, and take