e men shouted and sang. It was a pandemonium of
giddiness and music and laughter.

And Bela, as he blinked and looked upon the scene, remembered that he
had paid for it all. He had paid for the hire of the barn, the music and
the lighting; he had paid for the lavish supper which would be served
presently. And as he had had more silvorium to drink in the tap-room
than was altogether good for the clearness of his brain, he fell to
thinking that he ought now to be received and welcomed with all the
deference which his lavishness deserved. He thought that the young
people should have left off dancing when he appeared, and should have
greeted him, as they would undoubtedly have greeted my lord the Count,
had the latter deigned to come.

And what, after all, was my lord on such an occasion in comparison with
the donor of the feast?

Even Elsa--though she must, of course, have seen him--did not stop in
her senseless gyrations. She was dancing with Barna Moritz--the mayor's
youngest son and a splendid dancer--and the two young people went on
twirling and twisting and flirting and laughing just as if he--the real
host--had not been there.

Enraged at all this indifference, this want of recognition of his
dignity, he elbowed his way through the dense group of spectators which
formed a phalanx round the dancers. The wide and voluminous petticoats
of the women formed a veritable hedge through which he had to scramble
and to push. As the people recognized him they gave him pleasant
greetings, for the Hungarian peasant is by nature kindly and something
of an opportunist; there was no occasion to quarrel openly with Eros
Bela, who was rich and influential.

But he paid no heed either to the greetings or to the whispered comments
that followed in their wake. He just felt that he was the master of this
place, and he meant everyone else to know and acknowledge this fact. So
he strode up to the czigany and ordered them peremptorily to draw this
interminable csardas to an end; it had lasted quite long enough, he
said, and the girls looked a sight with their crimson, perspiring faces;
he was not going to have such vulgar goings-on at any of his wedding
feasts.

The gipsy leader never thought of disobeying, of course; it was the
_tekintetes ur_ (honoured gentleman) who was paying them for their work,
and they had to do as they were told.

Despite loud protests from the dancers, the csardas was brought to a
lovely and whirling close.