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"'Áronffy objected at first: "At once or never!" but he had finally to accept the decision of the seconds: and we drew lots. "'Áronffy's name came out." ... Lorand was staring at the narrator with fixed eyes, and had no feeling for the world outside, as he listened in rapt awe to this story of the past.
With wandering glance she stepped up to the young man, and, putting her hand gently on his arm, asked him in a whisper: "Do you know how to pray?" Lorand looked at her, aghast. "To pray from a book could you teach some one to pray from a book? Would it require a long time?" Lorand looked with ever-increasing wonder at the questioner. "Very well I did not say anything! Come with us.
"To Sárvölgyi's?" said Czipra, clasping her hands, and coming closer to Lorand. "You will go to Sárvölgyi's?" "Not just for Sárvölgyi's sake," said Lorand very seriously, "who is in other respects a very righteous pious fellow; but for the sake of his guests, who are old friends of Desi's. Why, I have not yet told you, Desi.
I smilingly spread out the two pieces of lilac-colored papers, which so exactly fitted together. But Lorand with flashing eyes glared at him, and as the dignified upright figure stood opposite him, threw the contents of the glass he held in his hand into the fellow's face, so that the red wine splashed all over his laced white waistcoat.
Lorand had time enough calmly to take in this "ladyship," in whose carriage he had come so far, and under whose roof he would probably live later. She must be a lively, good-natured creature. She shared every morsel with her servant, and sent what remained to the coachman. Perhaps if she had known she had another nameless travelling companion, she would have invited him to the repast.
Lorand felt a twitching pain at his heart: "that one's own brother should draw one's death warrant!" "As yet his hand is innocent. Nor shall he know for what he is drawing. I will tell him some tale. And so both of us may be tranquil during the drawing of lots." Just at that moment Desiderius opened the door.
Topándy at once perceived that Lorand did not run after a fair face, nor after the face of any woman, who was not difficult to conquer, because she was not guarded, and who might be easily got rid of, being but a gypsy girl. His heart was either fully occupied by one object only, or it was an infinite void which nothing could fill.
Some kind of displeasure strove to display itself thereon, but it was just as if he had studied the expression for hours in the mirror; it seemed to be an artificial, affected, calculated displeasure. Mother straightway hastened to him, and taking both his hands, impetuously introduced the conversation with these words: "Where is my son Lorand?"
"I must hasten on my way," said Lorand to his mother. "Whither?" "Back to Lankadomb." "You will bring me a new joy." "Yes, a new joy for you, mother, and for you, too," he said pressing his grandmother's hand. She understood what that handclasp meant. The murderer lived still. The account was not yet balanced! Lorand kissed his happy relations.
"I have allowed him, whom I allowed to remark that I have a grief, also to ask me the reason of it. You see, I have a mother, and yet I have none." The girl here turned half aside. Lorand understood her well: but that was just the subject about which he desired to know more; why, his own fate was bound up with it. "What do you mean, Melanie?"
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