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quivering mimosa in beautiful porcelain jars, behind which one could
just discern a pale, gentle woman, leaning on an embroidered cushion,
in sentimental melancholy. This was Banfy's wife.

It might have been ten o'clock in the morning when the watcher on the
tower inferred the arrival of the first carriages from the clouds of
dust along the road and blew his trumpet mightily. The priests and
teachers hurried to their pupils; the lieutenants brought their ranks
into order and the trumpeters began to play their latest march. Soon
came the carriages, attended by troops from the rest of the counties.
Before and behind rode an armed throng in whose costume and equipment
the greatest splendor of color was shown. The horses were of all kinds
and colors: Arabian stallions, Transylvanian thoroughbreds, small
Wallachian ponies, slender English racers and lightfooted horses from
Barbary. There were horses with flesh-colored manes, with jeweled
bridles, and with housings embroidered with butterflies, and in every
color. There was, too, all the war equipment of days gone by: the
slender Damascene, the spiked mace and those long, three-bladed
daggers the points of which dragged on the ground. Each division
carried the crest of its county on its gay standards. In front of the
band rode the captain of the nobility, George Veer, a stout, muscular
man of forty years.

The chief sat in a carriage drawn by five black horses; on both
carriage doors was Banfy's crest in gilding. Behind were two hussars.
Dionysius Banfy in proud dignity sat in splendor on the velvet
cushions of his coach. All the magnificence displayed about him
harmonized with his appearance.

The troops drawn up in line lowered their swords before him, the
school children greeted him with songs, his vassals waved their hats,
music sounded out along the walls, the priests made speeches and the
guests in the windows waved their handkerchiefs and caps.

Banfy received all these marks of honor with accustomed dignity and
noble nonchalance, like a man who feels that it is all his due. His
eyes wandered to the three windows of jasmine and mimosa and his
expression grew serious as he saw no one there.

From another window looked down an old man in a long soutane-like
coat; but his bearing did not indicate that he took part in the
general homage. At his side was a lady in mourning, on whose
countenance were unmistakable signs of anger and contempt; and at a
window below t