the heavy bolts and pulled open the door. There stood Dionysius Banfy,
sad, silent and dispirited, with no greeting for this beautiful woman.
A shiver passed over him. It is true he wore a tiger-skin over his
usual clothing, but the heavy rain had penetrated it.

"You are wet through," said Azraele. "Warm yourself quickly. Come here
and rest."

With these words she drew Banfy to a sofa, took off his cloak and
covered him with her own lined with fur, and placed a cushion under
his feet. But Banfy was cold and silent. His misfortune seemed written
on his face even to a less keen eye and to a mind more free from
suspicion than Azraele's. It could not be concealed that his proud
features no longer bore the stamp of the lord in power but of a fallen
king, whose fall had been the lower since his height was great; who
had not come because he wished to leave all that was dear to him but
because he was left by everybody. Not for all the world would Azraele
have shown that she noticed the change in Banfy's face. She tripped
off like a doe and came back bearing a great silver tray of gold
drinking cups.

"Not the gold ones, they do not break when you throw them at the wall.
Let us have our wine in Venetian crystal." He seized the first glass
and said in bitter scorn, "This glass to my friends!" He drank it off
and hurled it in contempt to the wall where it was shattered to
pieces.

At once he seized a second. "This second glass to my enemies!" and
emptying the glass he hurled it with mad laughter into the air. It
went almost to the ceiling and when it fell dropped on a cushion, and
did not break.

"See, it mocks me still and is unbroken!" said Banfy, with blazing
eyes.

Azraele sprang up, caught up the glass and crushed it under her feet.

Then Banfy took the third glass.

"This glass for Transylvania!" And he emptied it, but when he had
taken it from his lips the smile died from his face and instead of
hurling it at the wall he set it on the table. A cold shudder ran
through his whole frame at the meaning of his own words, "This glass
for Transylvania!" He did not take his hand from the glass but
timorously attempted to raise it from the table, when the glass
without visible cause cracked and fell into fragments in his hand. The
diamond ring on his finger had scratched the glass and like all badly
cooled crystal, it went to pieces at the slightest scratch. Banfy
sprang back in terror as if he had seen an omen.

The