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The few men who had shared Bogdan's room with him from the start described the former awfulness of his face with a sort of pride, as though they had taken part in the successful operations. Thus John Bogdan had gradually become almost vain of his shocking mutilation and the progress of the beautifying process.
The only exception is a hunchback whom he had looked on with contempt, and who now greets him familiarly. The countryside has been transformed by the building of a munition factory. Marcsa, Bogdan's betrothed, works there, and has become the factory owner's mistress. Bogdan sees red, and stabs the man, to be struck down dead himself a moment later.
"Yes, it's I. Well?" The humpback's small, piercing eyes searched Bogdan's scarred face curiously, and he shook his head in pity. "Well, well, the Russians certainly have done you up." Bogdan snarled at him like a vicious cur. "It's none of your business. What right have you to talk? If I had come into the world like you, with my belly on my back, the Russians couldn't have done anything to me."
Would she recognize him, or would she not? His knee joints gave way as if they had suddenly decayed, and his hand trembled as he held out the ticket. She took the ticket and let him pass through without a word! Poor John Bogdan's breath stopped short.
He had made a good living as foreman in the brickyard, and as thanks he had incited all the workmen against the owner, Bogdan's master, until they demanded twice as much wages, and were ready to set fire to the castle on all four corners. Once Mihaly had tried his luck with him, too. He had wanted to make his master out a bad man. But this time he had bucked up against the right person.
He saw him half-backed up against the wall already, swinging his gun over his head. One second more, and the butt-end would have come whizzing down. But a sleepy Russian was never the man to get the better of John Bogdan. Before he had the chance to bring down his gun, Bogdan's bayonet was in between his ribs, and the Russian fell over on his own gun.
You must first ask the master if he " It was as if a red pall woven of flames dropped in front of John Bogdan's eyes. The master? What was she saying about the master? He thought of the humpback, and it came to him in a flash that the fellow had not lied. His fingers clutched her wrist like a pair of glowing tongs, so that she cried out with the pain. "The master!" Bogdan bellowed.
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