ll not; at least, it has never yet been heard of in the annals of
Hungarian history.

"I take up my glass, gentlemen, to drink to the fairest flower of the
company, beloved by God, Who on one occasion sent down His servant from
Heaven, saying: 'Go down at once, Peter, with an umbrella; don't let the
child get wet.' Long life to Miss Veronica Belyi!"

Veronica was as red as a rose, especially when the guests all got up one
after the other, and went and kissed her hand; some of them even knelt
to do it, and pious Mrs. Mravucsan bent down and kissed the hem of her
dress.

Gyuri thought at first on hearing Wladin's peculiar speech that the good
man had gone mad, and now seeing every one following his example, was
more surprised than ever, and a strange feeling crept over him.

"What miracle is it your husband is referring to?" he asked, turning to
Mrs. Szliminszky.

That good lady looked at him surprised.

"What! Don't you know the story? Why, it is impossible. It is even
printed in Slovak verse."

"What is printed?"

"Why, the story of the umbrella ... Wladin, you are very hot, your face
is the color of a boiled lobster. Shall I give you my fan?"

"What about the umbrella?" queried Gyuri impatiently.

"It is really strange you have never heard anything about it. Well, the
story runs, that when your fair neighbor was a little child, they once
left her out on the veranda of the priest's house. Her brother, the
priest of Glogova, was in the church praying. A storm came on, it poured
in torrents, and the child would have been wet through and have got
inflammation of the lungs, or something of the kind, if a miracle had
not taken place. An old man appeared on the scene, no one knows from
where; he seemed to have fallen from heaven, and he spread an umbrella
over the child's head."

"My umbrella!" burst unconsciously from the lawyer.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing, nothing."

His blood coursed more quickly through his veins, his heart beat faster,
he raised his head quickly, with the result that he also knocked his
glass over.

"A christening, another christening!" called out every one.

"My best wishes," said Mr. Rafanidesz, turning to Mrs. Szliminszky, who
blushed becomingly and told him not to talk nonsense.

But the young lawyer would not let her continue the conversation; he
drew his chair nearer to hers, and said:

"Please go on."

"Well, the gray-haired man disappeared, no one knew how nor where,