rand. He scarcely knew why he said it: he heard,
but only unconsciously.

Only that letter! Melanie's letter!

He was in such a hurry to reach his room with it. Once there and alone,
he shut the door, kissed the fine rose-colored note, and its azure-blue
letters, the red seal upon it; and clasped it to his breast, as if he
would find out from his heart what was in it.

Well, and what could be in it?

Lorand put the letter down before him and laid his fist heavily upon it.

"Must I know what is in that letter?

"Suppose she writes that she loves me, and awaits happiness from me,
that her love can outbalance a whole lost world, that she is ready to
follow me across the sea, beyond the mocking sneers of acquaintances,
and to disappear with me among the hosts of forgotten figures!

"No. I shall not break open this letter.

"My last step shall not be hesitating.

"And if what seems such a chance meeting is nought but a well planned
revenge? If they have all along been agreed and have only come here
together that they may force me to confess that I am humiliated, that I
beg for happiness, for love, that I am afraid of death because I am in
love with the smiling faces of life; and when I have confessed that,
they will laugh in my face, and will leave me to the contempt of the
whole world, of my own self....

"Let them marry each other!"

Lorand took the beautiful note and locked it up in the drawer of his
table, unopened, unread.

His last thought must be that perhaps he had been loved, and that last
thought would be lightened by the uncertainty: only "perhaps."

And now to prepare for that journey.

It was Lorand's wont to carry two good pistols on a journey. These he
carefully loaded afresh, then hid them in his own traveling trunk.

He left his servant to pack in the trunk as much linen as would be
enough for two weeks, for they were going to journey farther.

Topandy had two carriages ready, his traveling coach and a wagon.

When the carriages drove up, Lorand put on his traveling cloak, lit his
pipe and went down into the courtyard.

Czipra was arranging all matters in the carriages, the trunks were bound
on tightly and the wine-case with its twenty-four bottles of choice
wine, packed away in a sure place.

"You are a good girl after all, Czipra," said Lorand, tenderly patting
the girl's back.

"After all?"

Was he really so devoted to that pipe that he could not take it from his
mouth for one s