e other man,
then he burst into a loud, mocking laugh.

"You are mad," he said, "or else drunk."

"I am neither," rejoined the other calmly. "It is all perfectly feasible
if only you will release Elsa. You have so often asserted that you don't
care one brass filler for the opinion of village folk."

"And I don't."

"Then it cannot matter to you if some blame is cast on you for breaking
off with Elsa on the eve of your wedding. People must see how unsuited
you are to each other and how unhappy your marriage must eventually turn
out. You have no feeling about promises, you have no parents who might
curse you if you break them. Break your promise to Elsa now, Bela, and
you will be doing the finest action of your life. Break your promise to
her, man, and let her come to me."

Bela was still staring at Andor as if indeed he thought the other mad,
but now an evil leer gradually spread over his face and his one eye
closed until it looked like a mere slit through which he now darted on
Andor a look of triumph and of hate.

"Break my promise to Elsa?" he said slowly and deliberately. "I wouldn't
do it, my good man, if you offered me all the gold in your precious
America."

"But you don't love her, Bela," urged Andor, with ardent earnestness.
"You don't really want her."

"No, I don't," said the other roughly, "but I don't want you to have her
either."

"What can it matter to you? There are plenty of pretty girls this side
of the Maros who would be only too glad to step into Elsa's shoes."

"I don't care about any pretty girls on this side of the Maros, nor on
the other either for that matter. I won't give Elsa up to you, my
friend, and she won't break her promise to me because she fears God and
her mother's curse. See?"

"She's far too good for you," cried Andor, with sudden vehemence, for he
had already realized that he must give up all hope now, and the other
man's manner, his coarseness and callousness had irritated him beyond
the bounds of endurance. He hated this cruel, selfish brute who held
power over Elsa with all the hatred of which his hot Magyar blood was
capable. A red mist seemed at times now to rise before his eyes, the
kind of mist that obscures a man's brain and makes him do deeds which
are recorded in hell.

"She's far too good for you," he reiterated hoarsely, even as his
powerful fists clenched themselves in a violent effort to keep up some
semblance of self-control. The thought of Elsa still f