was pale as the lily, excepting when
she smiled or spoke, and a slight flush like the dawn of morning
overspread her cheeks.

Jolanka was the orphan child of a distant relative, whom the Bardys
had adopted. They could not allow one who bore their name to suffer
want; and it seemed as if each member of the family had united to heap
affection and endearment on the orphan girl, and thus prevent her from
feeling herself a stranger among them.

There were still two other female members of the family: Katalin, the
old lady's daughter, who had been for many years a widow; and the wife
of one of her sons, a pretty young woman, who was trying to teach the
little prattler at her side to use the golden spoon which she had
placed in his small fat hand, while he laughed and crowed, and the
family did their best to guess what he said, or what he most
preferred.

Opposite to them there sat two gentlemen. One of them was the husband
of the young mother, Jozsef Bardy--a handsome man of about
five-and-thirty, with regular features, and black hair and beard; a
constant smile beamed on his gay countenance, while he playfully
addressed his little son and gentle wife across the table. The other
was his brother, Barnabas--a man of herculean form and strength. His
face was marked by small-pox; he wore neither beard nor moustache,
and his hair was combed smoothly back, like a peasant's. His
disposition was melancholy and taciturn; but he seemed constantly
striving to atone, by the amiability of his manners, for an
unprepossessing exterior.

Next to him sat a little cripple, whose pale countenance bore that
expression of suffering sweetness so peculiar to the deformed; while
his lank hair, bony hands, and misshapen shoulders awakened the
beholder's pity. He, too, was an orphan--a grandchild of the old lady;
his parents had died some years before.

Two little boys of about five years old sat opposite to him. They were
dressed alike, and the resemblance between them was so striking, that
they were constantly mistaken. They were twin-children of the young
couple.

At the lower end of the table sat Imre Bardy, a young man of twenty,
whose handsome countenance was full of life and intelligence, his
figure manly and graceful, and his manners courteous and agreeable: a
slight moustache was beginning to shade his upper lip, and his dark
hair fell in natural ringlets round his head. He was the only son of
the majoresco, Tamas Bardy, and resembl