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They had not gone a dozen steps before a youth, with a beardless face and hollow cheeks, accosted them. "For the love of Christ, gentlemen," he said, "help me!" "Are you a German?" asked Boleskey. "Yes," said the youth. "Then you may rot!" "Master, look here!" Tearing open his coat, the youth displayed his skin, and a leather belt drawn tight round it.
She jumped up from her seat and twirled round with a pout. An inspiration seized on Swithin. "Come and dine with me," he said to Boleskey, "to-morrow the Goldene Alp bring your friend." He felt the eyes of the whole room on him the Hungarian's fine eyes; Margit's wide glance; the narrow, hot gaze of Kasteliz; and lastly Rozsi's. A glow of satisfaction ran down his spine.
About Boleskey there was that which made contempt impossible the sense of comradeship begotten in the fight; the man's height; something lofty and savage in his face; and an obscure instinct that it would not pay to show distaste; but this Kasteliz, with his neat jaw, low brow, and velvety, volcanic look, excited his proper English animosity. "Your friends are mine," murmured Kasteliz.
Swithin pressed his face to it. With a shiver, she whispered above him, "I will come," and gently shut the door. Swithin stealthily retraced his steps, and paused a minute outside the sitting-room to regain his self-control. The sight of Boleskey with a bottle in his hand steadied him. "She is coming," he said. And very soon she did come, her thick hair roughly twisted in a plait.
He left the fair, but the further he went, the more he nursed his rage, the more heinous seemed her offence, the sharper grew his jealousy. "A beggarly baron!" was his thought. A figure came alongside it was Boleskey. One look showed Swithin his condition. Drunk again! This was the last straw! Unfortunately Boleskey had recognised him. He seemed violently excited.
"Where where are my daughters?" he began. Swithin brushed past, but Boleskey caught his arm. "Listen brother!" he said; "news of my country! After to-morrow...." "Keep it to yourself!" growled Swithin, wrenching his arm free. He went straight to his lodgings, and, lying on the hard sofa of his unlighted sitting-room, gave himself up to bitter thoughts.
This enthusiasm seemed to him common; but he was careful to assume a look of interest, feeding on the glances flashed at him from Rozsi's restless eyes. As the wine waned Boleskey grew more and more gloomy, but now and then a sort of gleaming flicker passed over his face. He rose to his feet at last.
Let us drink, then, to him; let us drink again and again to heroic Forsyte!" In the midst of the dead silence, Swithin caught the look of suppliant mockery in Rozsi's eyes. He glanced at the Hungarian. Was he laughing at him? But Boleskey, after drinking up his wine, had sunk again into his seat; and there suddenly, to the surprise of all, he began to snore.
He seemed to tower, a gaunt shadow of a man, with gloomy, flickering eyes staring at the wall. Swithin rose, and stammered, "Much obliged very interesting." Boleskey made no effort to detain him, but continued staring at the wall. "Good-night!" said Swithin, and stamped heavily downstairs. When at last Swithin reached the Goldene Alp, he found his brother and friend standing uneasily at the door.
The change from the fresh air to a heated corridor, the noise of the door closed behind him, the old woman's anxious glances, sobered Swithin. "I tell her," said Boleskey, "that I reply for you as for my son." Swithin was angry. What business had this man to reply for him! They passed into a large room, crowded with men all women; Swithin noticed that they all looked fit him.
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