"He ought not to be allowed to force them."

"If we refuse him he threatens to force on us as Prince the fugitive,
Nicholas Zolyomi, living at Constantinople."

"He has only to bring him here and we will drive him out at once,
together with his protector."

"Quite true. But the Prince is so wearied of this bitter hatred that
he has decided, partly out of fright too, to pardon Zolyomi and permit
him to return."

"Let him do so, in God's name."

"Right, quite right. But your Grace certainly knows that the estates
of Zolyomi are at present in the possession of your Grace. The
Prince, therefore, finds himself compelled to demand of your Grace
that you should with all good feeling give over these estates to
Zolyomi on his return."

"What!" cried Banfy, stepping back. "And you think that I will give up
these estates! The Diet gave them over to me with the burdensome
condition that I should equip two regiments for the defence of the
country. This burdensome condition I have complied with, and do you
think that now I will give up these estates that you may have one more
fool in the country?"

"But if it is the Prince's wish?"

"It matters not who wishes it, I will not give them back."

"And shall I carry back this answer?"

"This unmistakable answer," replied Banfy, accenting every syllable.
"I do not give them up."

"Your most humble servant," said Nalaczy, bowed mockingly, and
withdrew.

"Slave!" Banfy threw after him contemptuously. Then he looked out into
the corridor and seeing some of his dependents waiting there hat in
hand, he shouted: "Come in, what do you want?"

When the simple folk saw that their over-lord was in a bad humor they
hesitated to enter until the castle steward pushed them in.

"We ought to have brought the tithe," began the oldest peasant, with
eyes downcast and in tearful voice, "but we really could not. It was
not possible."

"Why could you not?" said Banfy, harshly.

"Because we have nothing, gracious lord,--the rain has failed, crops
have gone to ruin, we have not harvested enough corn for the sowing;
the people in the village are living on roots and mushrooms, so long
as they last. After that God knows what will become of them!"

"There it is," said Banfy. "A new blow of fortune and we are still
longing for war. Here, steward, you must have the storehouses opened
at once and furnish grain for sowing; and the poor must be provided
with sufficient food for the winter."

The