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Updated: June 17, 2025
Gongoly sent his men there to mow it, with the result that next day the ring was safely resting on Veronica's finger. And for years the people spoke of the wonderful fact that in that year Mr. Gongoly's meadow gave two crops of hay, and it was always mentioned if any one spoke disparagingly of the Glogova fields. What more am I to say? I think I have told my story conscientiously.
"Have you got them?" "Yes, thank you." "Please don't eat the red one, it is not mine." "Very well, I will not eat it." "You seem to be of the better class?" "I am the parish priest of Glogova." Gyuri, surprised, fell a step backward. How strange! The parish priest of Glogova! Could anything more unexpected have happened? "I will get you out, your reverence; only wait a few minutes."
"It will be Veronica's when she marries; the priest of Glogova told me so himself. 'It will belong to my sister, he said, 'unless she makes a present of it to the Church when she marries." "Oh, no," said the lawyer, shaking his head. "At least, I mean ... What am I saying? What were we speaking about? It is fearfully warm, I'm stifling. Please, Mr. Mravucsán, could we have the window open?"
They keep it as a relic in the church of Glogova." "Thank God!" He drew a deep breath, as though a great weight had fallen from him. "Found!" he murmured. He thought he would have fallen from his chair in his joy. "And to whom does it belong? To the Church?" asked Gyuri. "It may be yours once," said Mrs. Szliminszky.
Only the pleasant, amiable expression in his thin face was the same. He was surprised to see such a well-dressed young man before him a rarity on the borders of the Glogova woods. "How can I show you my gratitude?" he exclaimed, with a certain pathos which reminded one strongly of the pulpit.
"That is true," laughed Mravucsán good-humoredly. "So you will take them?" "Of course, even if I were not going to Glogova myself." "Are you really going there?" asked Veronica, surprised. "Yes." She looked at him thoughtfully for a minute, and then said: "Don't try to deceive us." Gyuri smiled. "On my word of honor, I intended going to Glogova. Shall we all go together?"
After passing the Kopanyicza Hills, which seem like a screen to the entrance of the valley, Glogova, with its little white houses, lay before them. "We are nearly at home now," said Veronica. "Where is the Presbytery?" asked Gyuri. "At the end of the village." "Tell me when to turn to the right or the left." "Very well, Mr. Coachman! At present keep straight on."
"Yes, he was sorry for it," answered the lawyer, smiling, as he remembered the fable, "but I don't think we can compare this case with that." "I am sure you have no idea to whom the earring belongs?" "Not the slightest. Whose is it?" "It belongs to the sister of the Glogova priest." Gyuri screwed up his mouth doubtfully.
Two days later the funeral took place, and it was a long time since anything so splendid had been seen in Glogova. Mr. Gongoly had sent for the priest from Lehota too, for, as he said, why should not his wife have two priests to read the burial service over her.
He would live like a prince henceforward, spend the winter in Budapest, or on the Riviera, in Monaco, and the summer at Ostend; in fact, he would be a grand gentleman, and not even look at poor priests' sisters. Sleep would not come, how could it be expected? One scheme after the other passed before his mind's eye, like the butterflies in the Glogova woods. And he chased them all in turn.
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