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Updated: May 19, 2025
I'll let you take care of the horses again, if you care to. But Marcsa is to be let alone. I won't have any rumpus. If she still wants to marry you, all well and good. But if she doesn't, she's to be let alone. If I hear once again that you have annoyed her, I'll chase you to the devil. Do you understand?" Foaming with rage, Bogdan let out the stream of his wrath. "To the devil?" he shouted.
John Bogdan thrust his fist into his mouth and dug his teeth into the flesh, until the pain of it at length helped him subdue his sobbing. Then he buried his head in his hands and tried to think. Never in his life had anything gone amiss with him. He had always been liked, at school, in the castle, and even in the barracks.
"What has the master got to do between you and me? Yes or no? I want an answer. The master has nothing to do with us." Marcsa drew herself up. All of a sudden a remarkable assurance came to her. The color returned to her cheeks, and her eyes flashed proudly. She stood there with the haughty bearing so familiar to Bogdan, her head held high in defiance.
From the hill yonder came, like an answer, the deep bellow of the factory whistle, and a little white cloud rose over the tops of the trees. Bogdan quickened his pace, running rather than walking, heedless of the drops of sweat that ran down and tickled his neck.
His head would have fallen back exhausted to one side, he would once again have embraced the air longingly with outspread fingers, and then in a flash would have shrunk together, exactly like the fat, messy Russian with the large blue eyes who was the first man to present himself to St. Peter with a greeting from John Bogdan. Bogdan had not let him loose until he had altogether quit squirming.
Suddenly a voice woke him up out of his brooding, and a hot wave surged into his face, and his heart stood still with delighted terror, as he heard some one say: "Is that you, Bogdan?" He raised himself, happy at having been recognized after all. But the next moment he knitted his brows in complete disappointment. It was Mihaly the humpback.
Sitting on the bench opposite the station, with the sign of the village in view, a short name, a single word, which comprised his whole life, all his memories, hopes and experiences, John Bogdan suddenly thought of one of the village characters, Peter the cripple, who had lived in the tumbledown hut behind the mill many years before, when John was still a child.
Having had the opportunity of judging at its right value the friendship of the Christian princes, on his death-bed Stephen advised his son Bogdan to make voluntary submission to the Turks. Thus Moldavia, like Wallachia, came under Turkish suzerainty.
She did not recognize him! The wife of Kovacs, the station-guard, did not recognize John Bogdan. The house of her parents stood next to the house of his parents. She and he had gone to school together, they had been confirmed together. He had held her in his arms and kissed and kissed her, heaven knows how many times, before Kovacs came to the village to woo her. And she had not recognized him!
The man beat about with his arms, his eyes popped from his head in fright, his throat gurgled, and his face turned livid. Then John Bogdan released his hold, and Mihaly fell to the ground and lay there gasping. Bogdan quickly gathered up his things and strode off, taking long, quick steps, as if afraid of arriving too late for something in the castle.
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