other enemy; and when the battle was over, both our swords were red.
It is the soldier's fate!"

"And could you have killed him?"

"Far rather die myself; and therefore I do not love the sword--I like
the cannon much better. Those soldiers are far happier; they never see
the faces of those they kill, or hear their dying groans. More than
once, when the madness of glory has made my brain giddy, I have heard
my name repeated by the enemy I had cut down--calling to me, 'Thanks,
comrade!' as he fell from his horse; and I have recognised some old
school-fellow, or some officer who had left our own regiment. And
then, when I am alone, that 'Thanks, comrade' always"--

The trumpet sounded before the window. It was the call to march.

The hussar took leave: a short word, a long kiss, a tear hastily
brushed aside, and the next moment he was on his impatient charger,
and neither the tear nor the kiss were to be traced on his calm
countenance.

Again the trumpet sounded--the troop marched forward, white
handkerchiefs waved from the widow's window--an hour afterwards,
Szolnok was once more deserted and silent.

Towards evening, the sound of martial music was again heard; helmets
and cuirasses gleamed in the setting sun. It was the imperial army,
well clothed and mounted, and in perfect order. Their troops formed a
striking contrast to those which had passed in the morning, who were
dejected by want and suffering.

A young cuirassier had quartered himself in the widow's house; he was
the gayest officer in his regiment, and more particularly now, as the
bridegroom of one of the two fair sisters.

Unlike the young hussar, there was no sadness in his tone; and when he
could think of aught but Aniko's bright eyes, victory shone in his
glance--for he loved his profession, and was ready to shed his blood
or win laurels of glory for it.

"Do not fear, sweet friend!" he exclaimed, seeing Ilka turn away with
tearful eyes to weep alone; "I will bring back your bridegroom from
the first battle to pass his captivity with you."

But the jest pained Ilka.

She replied with pride: "Gejza will sooner die than be taken
prisoner."

Weeks and months passed away, and Laszlo's bride was soon to be his
wife.

"The first victory," he said, "shall celebrate our marriage!"

"The first victory," sighed Ilka, "will be _his_ defeat!" and then she
wept bitterly. But when the sisters were together, each restrained her
smiles and her tears so a