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Updated: June 18, 2025
Again the call for help was repeated, and now it seemed to come out of the earth, and Gyuri immediately concluded it came from the precipice, and ran toward it. "Here I am!" he called out. "Where are you and what is the matter?" "I am down the precipice," was the answer; "help me, for God's sake!"
Nothing could have upset Gregorics as much as this declaration. How could it have happened? Had he eaten any poisonous mushrooms? Gyuri shook his head. Well, what could he have eaten? The mother racked her brains to find out what could have been the cause. Perhaps this, perhaps that, perhaps the vinegar was bad, or the copper saucepans had not been quite clean?
Why, thought I, that will be just the thing for Matykó; if three sparks from that holy wood are of no use, then Matykó will be entered in the ranks of God's soldiers." At the thought of little Matykó as one of God's soldiers her tears began to flow. It was lucky if none of them fell into the frying-pan. "Mrs. Adamecz!" exclaimed Gyuri, alarmed, his voice trembling.
Veronica, to whom the mayor's wife had been showing the embroidered table-cloth, calling her attention to the fineness of the linen, now caught a few words of the conversation. "Are you speaking of our umbrella?" she asked amiably, leaning toward them. Gyuri and Mrs. Szliminszky started. "Yes, my dear," answered the latter, slightly confused. Gyuri smiled mischievously.
"What a strange dream," thought Gyuri; "and how very much logic it contains! Why, I might have thought of that solution myself!" By the time Gyuri was dressed, it was getting late, and every member of the Mravucsán household was on foot.
He thought for a bit, idly making holes in the sand with the umbrella, and then added: "When the umbrella is yours." Gyuri made a wry face. "Thank you, uncle, but I hope you don't mean to give it me on my birthday instead of the pony you promised me?" And he laughed heartily, upon which the old gentleman began to laugh too, contentedly stroking his mustache, consisting of half a dozen hairs.
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.
Gyuri thought at first on hearing Wladin's peculiar speech that the good man had gone mad, and now seeing every one following his example, was more surprised than ever, and a strange feeling crept over him. "What miracle is it your husband is referring to?" he asked, turning to Mrs. Szliminszky. That good lady looked at him surprised. "What! Don't you know the story? Why, it is impossible.
He gave only a hasty glance at his visitor, then looked at Gyuri. The expression in his eyes as he turned them on those of the warder was like the look in the eyes of a well-trained dog when it watches its master's face. Gyuri's brows were drawn close together and his mouth set tight to a narrow line.
He knew that I loved to give them riddles to guess, just as I did in Paris so long ago." "Oh, yes, you're Cardillac, aren't you? And now tell us about the smith's swineherd." "You mean Janos? Oh, he was a stupid lout," answered Varna scornfully. "He had cast an eye on the beautiful Julcsi, Gyuri's mistress, so of course I had to kill him." "Did you do that alone?" "No, Gyuri helped me."
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