he saints a more exquisite woman never came
out of Paradise!

The semicircle of spectators composed of older folk draws closer round
the dancers, but the other couples remain comparatively unheeded. It is
Elsa and Andor whom everyone is watching.

He is tall and broad-shouldered, with the supple limbs of a young stag,
and the mad, irresponsible movements of a colt. His dark eyes shine like
two stars out of his sun-burnt face; his muscular arms encircle Elsa's
fine waist with a grip that is almost masterful. The wide sleeves of his
linen shirt flutter above his shoulders till they look like wings and he
like some messenger of the gods come to carry this exquisite prey off
from the earth.

"What a well-matched couple!" murmur the older women as they watch.

"Elsa will be the beauty of the village within the next year, mark what
I say!" added a kindly old soul, turning to her neighbour--a slatternly,
ill-kempt, middle-aged woman, who was casting looks on Andor and Elsa
that were none too kind.

"Hm!" retorted the latter, with sour mien, "then 'tis as well that that
good-for-nothing will be safely out of the way."

"I would not call Andor good-for-nothing, Irma neni,"[2] said one of the
men who stood close by, "he has not had much chance to do anything for
himself yet. . . ."

[Footnote 2: Aunt Irma--the words aunt (_neni_) and uncle (_bacsi_) are
used indiscriminately in Hungary when addressing elderly people, and do
not necessarily imply any relationship.]

"And he never will," snapped the woman, with a click of her thin jaws,
"I know the sort--always going to do wonderful things in a future which
never comes. Well! at any rate while he is a soldier they will teach him
that he is no better than other lads that come from the same village,
and not even as good, seeing that he has never any money in his wallet."

"Andor will be rich some day," suggested the kindly old soul who had
first spoken, "don't you forget it, Irma neni."

"I have no special wish to remember it, my good Kati," retorted Irma
dryly.

"I thought," murmured the other, "seeing that Andor has really courted
Elsa this summer that . . . perhaps . . ."

"My daughter has plenty of admirers," said Irma, in her bitter-toned,
snappish way, "and has no reason to wait for one who only may be rich
some day."

"Bah! Lakatos Pal cannot live for ever. Andor will have every filler of
his money when he dies, and Pal will cut up very well."

"Lakatos Pal i