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Updated: May 8, 2025
And the mason went on to tell how Gregorics had stood by while they had walled in the caldron, and watched every movement, Gáspár throwing in a question now and then. "Was it heavy?" "Very heavy." "Did no one see you as you passed through the courtyard?" "No one; every one had gone to bed."
The young girls were told that Pál Gregorics spat blood, and of course, the moment they heard that, they would have nothing more to do with him, so that at his next visit their hearts would beat loudly, but not in the same way they had done last time he drove up in his coach and four. Poor Gregorics! What a pity!
So he began to frequent various houses where there were pretty girls to be met, and where he, being a good match, was well received; but his step-brothers, who were always in hopes that the delicate little man would not live long, did their best to upset his plans in this case too. So Pál Gregorics got so many refusals one after the other, that he was soon renowned in the whole neighborhood.
That sly Prepelicza had easily found out in Besztercebánya that Pál Gregorics had more than one brother living, and he decided that if one of them paid him 250 florins for the secret, the other would perhaps be inclined to pay something too. So he got into the train, travelled to Besztercebánya, and looked up Boldizsár.
Yes, in those dear little drawing-rooms, there was any amount of gossip going on. It was really disgraceful of Gregorics, but he was always tactless. The idea of compromising honest old ladies, mothers and grandmothers! The nine ladies were the talk of the town, their names were in every mouth, and though there were many who blamed Gregorics, there were also some who took his part.
What things do happen in the nineteenth century, to be sure! Whatever Pál Gregorics did was wrong; if he quarrelled with some one and would not give in, they said he was a brawler; and if he gave in, he was a coward.
How could he have trusted hundreds of thousands to a child of that age? Then, where had he put it? to whom had he given it? That was the riddle the Gregorics were trying to solve.
Gáspár Gregorics received the following particulars as to Gyuri's mode of life: "He breakfasts at a cheap coffee-house, attends lectures all the morning, dines at the 'First of April, the afternoon he passes at a lawyer's office, copying deeds, etc., and in the evening he buys a little bacon or fried fish for supper, then goes home and studies till midnight.
"I really don't know, I never asked Gregorics." He closed his eyes, and in a weak voice added, with that phlegma which only a Hungarian displays on his deathbed: "But if you wait a bit, I'll ask him." And he probably kept his promise, for half an hour later a black flag was flying from the roof of the Town Hall, and the bell of the Roman Catholic church was tolling.
Gregorics, afraid the warning would take effect, flew at the old man and seized hold of his tie. "Hold your tongue or I'll murder you. Do you want to ruin me?" "Well, what would that matter? Do you want to throttle me? Leave go of my neck-tie." "Well, let the boy go after my umbrella." "After all, what is the hen good for if not to look after the chickens?" muttered the old boatman.
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