he contrived
to work his way across to the door which gave on the inner room, and to
push it slightly open with his hand, until he could peep through the
aperture and take a quick survey of the room beyond.

Klara had not seen this manoeuvre of his, although she had cast more
than one rapid and furtive glance upon him while she attended to her
customers. She was thankful that he was going away for a few days; in
his present mood he was positively dangerous.

She had lighted the oil lamp which hung from the centre of the low,
raftered ceiling, the hour was getting late, customers were all leaving
now one by one.

Eros Bela was one of the last to go.

He had drunk rather more silvorium than was good for him. He knew quite
well that by absenting himself from the pre-nuptial festivals he had
behaved in a disgraceful and unjustifiable manner which would surely be
resented throughout the village, and though he was quite sure that he
did not care one brass filler what all those ignorant peasants thought
of him, yet he felt it incumbent upon him to brace up his courage now,
before meeting the hostile fusillade of eyes which would be sure to
greet him on his return to the barn.

He meant to put in a short appearance there, and then to finish his
evening here in Klara's company. He felt that his dignity demanded that
he should absent himself at any rate from the supper, seeing that Elsa
had so grossly defied him.

"At ten o'clock I'll be back, Klara," he whispered, in the girl's ear,
as he was about to take his departure along with some of his friends,
who also intended to go on to the dance in the barn.

"Indeed you won't," she retorted decisively, "I have no use for you, my
good Bela. You are almost a married man now, remember!" she added with a
laugh.

"I'll bring those bottles of champagne," he urged; "don't be hard on me,
Klara. I'll give you a good time to-night, and a nice present into the
bargain."

"And ruin my reputation for ever, eh? By walking into the tap-room when
it's full of people and carrying two bottles of champagne under your
arm--or staying on ostentatiously after everyone has gone and for
everyone to gossip. No, thank you; I've already told you that I am not
going to lend myself to your little games of vengeance. It isn't me you
want, it's petty revenge upon Elsa. To that I say no, thank you, my good
man."

"Klara!" he pleaded.

"No!" she said, and unceremoniously turned her back on him.

He