ich had received many
additions at different periods, as the wealth or necessities of the
family suggested.

It was surrounded by groups of ancient chestnut trees, and the terrace
before the court was laid out in gardens, which were now filled with
anemones, hyacinths, and other early flowers. Now and then the head of
a joyous child appeared at the windows, which were opened to admit the
evening breeze; while various members of the household retinue were
seen hastening through the corridors, or standing at the doors in
their embroidered liveries.

The castle was completely surrounded by a strong railwork of iron, the
stone pillars were overgrown by the evergreen leaves of the gobea and
epomoea.

It was the early spring of 1848.

A party, consisting of thirteen persons, had assembled in the
dining-room. They were all members of one family, and all bore the
name of Bardy.

At the head of the board sat the grandmother, an old lady of eighty
years of age, whose snow-white hair was dressed according to the
fashion of her times beneath her high white cap. Her face was pale and
much wrinkled, and the eyes turned constantly upwards, as is the case
with persons who have lost their sight. Her hand and voice trembled
with age, and there was something peculiarly striking in the thick
snow-white eyebrows.

On her right hand sat her eldest son, Thomas Bardy, a man of between
fifty and sixty. With a haughty and commanding countenance,
penetrating glance, lofty figure, and noble mien, he was a true type
of that ancient aristocracy which is now beginning to die out.

Opposite to him, at the old lady's left hand, sat the darling of the
family--a lovely girl of about fifteen. Her golden hair fell in
luxuriant tresses round a countenance of singular beauty and
sweetness. The large and lustrous deep-blue eyes were shaded by long
dark lashes, and her complexion was pale as the lily, excepting when
she smiled or spoke, and a slight flush like the dawn of morning
overspread her cheeks.

Jolanka was the orphan child of a distant relative, whom the Bardys
had adopted. They could not allow one who bore their name to suffer
want; and it seemed as if each member of the family had united to heap
affection and endearment on the orphan girl, and thus prevented her
from feeling herself a stranger among them.

There were still two other female members of the family: Katalin, the
old lady's daughter, who had been for many years a widow; and