tarted, as if I had seen a ghost, for this thin,
tall rider was the perfect resemblance of his father. The same knotty
hair and bearded head, the same densely furrowed face, the same deep,
calm, gray eyes. And his hair and beard were almost as white as his
father's!

He came galloping through the gate, pulled the bridle with a sudden
jerk, and the next moment was on the paving; then with one bound he
reached the terrace, and had me in his strong arms. With wild
eagerness he showed me into the castle and at the same time kept
talking and questioning me without ceasing. Then he thrust me into my
room and declared that he gave me fifteen minutes--no more--to dress.

The time had not even expired, when he came, like a whirlwind,
embraced me again and carried me into the dining-room. There
chandeliers and lamps were already lit; the table was elaborately
decorated, and bore plenty of wine.

At the meal he spoke again. Nervously jerking out his words, he was
continually questioning me on one subject and then another, without
waiting for the answer. He laughed often and harshly. When we came to
the drinking, he winked to the servants, and immediately five Czigany
musicians entered the room. Balint noticed the astonishment on my
face, and half evasively said:

"I have sent to Iglo for them in honor of you. Let the music sound,
and the wine flow; who knows when we will see each other again?"

He put his face into his palm. The Cziganys played old Magyar songs.
Balint glanced at me now and then, and filled the glasses; we clinked
them together, but he always seemed to be worried.

It was dawning. The soft sound of a church bell rose to us. Balint put
his hand on my shoulder and bent to my ear.

"Do you know how my father died?" he asked in a husky voice. "He
killed himself."

I looked at him with amazement; I wanted to speak, but he shook his
head, and grasped my hand.

"Do you remember my father?" he asked me. Of course; while I looked at
him it seemed as if his father were standing before me. The very
fibrous, skinny figure, the muscles and flesh seeming peeled off. Even
through his coat arm I felt the naked, unveiled nerves.

"I always admired and honored my father, but we were never true
intimates; I knew that he loved me, but I felt as if it was not for my
own sake; as if he loved something in my soul that was strange to me.
I never saw him smile; sometimes he was so harsh that I was afraid of
him; at another ti