rl to take her place among the pickled
cucumbers, basins of lard, and sacks of potatoes, in order to listen to
a conversation which was not meant for her ears.

Not a sound was to be heard in the storeroom but the dripping of the fat
from a side of bacon hanging from the rafters, and which the great heat
there was causing it to melt. Some of it even fell on her pretty dress,
but what did she care for that just then?

"So you have found out all about the umbrella," she heard Sztolarik say,
"but have you seen it yet?"

"Why should I?" asked Gyuri. "I cannot touch its contents till after the
wedding."

"Why not sooner?"

"Because, for various reasons, I do not wish the story of the umbrella
known."

"For instance?"

"First of all, because Father Janos would be the laughing-stock of the
place."

"Why do you trouble your head about the priest?"

"Secondly, because it would give Veronica reason to think I am only
marrying her for the sake of the umbrella."

"But she will know it later on in any case."

"I shall never tell her."

"Have you any other reasons?"

"Oh, yes. I dare say they would not even give me the check; it is
probably not made out in any particular name; so how am I to prove to
them that it is mine? It really belongs to the person who has it in his
possession. And perhaps they would not even give me the girl, for if her
fortune is as large as we think it, she can find as many husbands as she
has fingers on her hands."

Veronica felt giddy. It was as though they were driving nails into her
flesh. She could not quite understand all they were talking about--of
umbrellas, receipts, large fortunes. What fortune? But this much she had
begun to understand, that she was only the means to some end.

"Well, well," began Sztolarik again after a short pause, "the affair
seems to be pretty entangled at present, but there is still worse to
come."

"What more can come?" asked Gyuri in an uncertain voice.

"Don't do anything at present. Let us find out first of all whether you
love the girl."

Poor little Veronica was trembling like a leaf in her hiding-place. She
shut her eyes like a criminal before his execution, with a sort of
undefined feeling that the blow would be less painful so. What would he
answer?

"I think I love her," answered Gyuri, again in that uncertain voice.
"She is so pretty, don't you think so?"

"Of course. But the question is, would you in other circumstances have
asked her t