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He flew nay, that would be saying too much for him; but he hastened to the house as fast as a pair of legs could carry him. On reaching it, he must needs embrace Mr. Boltay himself willy-nilly, and insisted on being conducted to the bride at once. The thought that this wondrously beautiful damsel was ready to take him for a husband, made him positively love her. Mr.
The whole world must know; and, above all, Mr. Boltay must know what an unfortunate mother I am. Oh, oh, Mr. Boltay, you cannot imagine what a horrible torture it is for a mother who has bad daughters and mine are bad; but it serves me right! I am the cause of it, for I have always let them have their own way. Why did I not throw myself in the Danube after my poor dear husband?
The elderly gentleman smiled, hooked his arm within Master Boltay's, and, in the heartiest manner, invited him to go with him into the house as they must have a long conversation together. Master Boltay gave way, led the gentleman into the innermost apartment, made him sit down, and remained standing before him to hear what he had to say.
But Teresa's relatives would not give him the girl, although she loved him; their family belonged to the official class, and looked down upon a mere workman. So Boltay went away and married some one else, and the marriage turned out unhappy and childless; and by the time his wife died both he and Teresa had grown old. Teresa had never married at all.
Meyer whispered in her daughter's ear "When may I come back for you?" "The day after to-morrow." "And what answer shall I give?" "The day after to-morrow," repeated Fanny. Here Boltay popped in again. "Wait a moment, my dear uncle," said Fanny; "I want to write a few lines to Aunt Teresa, which you can take with you."
In the house where they lived there was an Hungarian cabinet-maker, who owned several houses in Pressburg, John Boltay by name. This rich artisan, long, long ago, when he had only just served his apprenticeship, was tenderly disposed towards Teresa, and offered her his hand.
Master Boltay stopped short, although there was nothing very extraordinary in the fact that the girl knew his secret. Both of them hung upon Fanny's next words. "Poor Alexander!" sighed the girl. "Why are you sorry?" "Because he loves me. Why cannot he find a better, more reliable girl than I, to make him happy?" "Then you don't want to marry him?" asked the old man, sadly.
Boltay's house, and Teresa had kept it quiet, no doubt, because there had been certain relations between her and Boltay in their younger days, or perhaps she went to see him because Boltay's adopted son wanted to marry Fanny. As for herself, she did not mean to trouble her head about them any more. Abellino bit his lips till the blood came, he was so angry.
Teresa broke open the letter, read it through, and looked at Boltay. Then she read it through again. She read it through a third time, and again she looked at Boltay. "It is Greek, indeed," said she. "I don't understand it. You have a look at it." And she handed the letter to Boltay.
"Waste your precious youth while Boltay is alive, and then it will be too late to sigh and groan over the reflection, 'How much better it would have been to have sold it for so much!" And the horror of it was that Fanny understood everything quite well.
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