stripes.--_Jokai_.]

"Has the daughter of the cord[14] been married lately?"

[Footnote 14: A flowery expression for the gallows.--_Jokai_.]

"Only Marczi Csendes has been elevated lately. He was a fool. He took
the crime of two comrades on his shoulders in order to let them go free.
They were caught in the act, but he swore he did the deed. They were
young bloods, you see, and he had nobody to care for him. And yet it was
they who presented the empty pistol at the Jew's head. The Jew himself
pointed them out, but Marczi steadfastly maintained that it was he who
frightened the fellow."

"So they made him cold against the winter time?"

"Yes, but he didn't very much care. The hour before his execution he
took an affectionate leave of his comrades, and to me he bequeathed his
warm old sheepskin. When the priest asked him whether he had anything
upon his conscience, he merely said the only thing that grieved him was
the thought that he would never again be able in this life to eat his
fill of well peppered _gulyas_[15] such as old Ripa knew how to cook.
They humoured him, and I was sent into the kitchen to prepare it. My old
friend ate with a good appetite and wanted me to take a bit too; but my
throat felt as cramped as if they had already taken my measure round it
with the gallows rope. He gave each of the two heydukes who accompanied
him in the felon's car, one on his right, the other on his left, a
silver coin apiece. The heydukes told us afterwards that when he got
outside he rose up in the car and addressed the people. He was a tall,
handsome fellow with red cheeks, long black hair and a fine sonorous
voice like any chaplain's. His last words were: 'Well, I now look upon
this fair world for the last time.'"

[Footnote 15: Hungarian pilau.]

"Did he leave behind him any new songs," enquired Hatszegi. "He was
always a famous singer."

"Yes, one he made in jail, and a splendid song it was too, I can tell
you. Bandi! pipe it to his lordship on your _tilinka_ as I have taught
you." At these words one of the youths drew forth from his sleeve one of
those flutes made of elder-wood, which in Hungarian goes by the name of
a _tilinka_, and which with its poor six holes is able to give forth as
many variations as the throat of a lark; then, without any virtuoso airs
he simply piped the plaintive melody.

The baron was immensely pleased. "Margari," cried he, "go to the
carriage, look for my fiddle and bring it hither!"