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Updated: June 10, 2025
The only exception is a hunchback whom he had looked on with contempt, and who now greets him familiarly. The countryside has been transformed by the building of a munition factory. Marcsa, Bogdan's betrothed, works there, and has become the factory owner's mistress. Bogdan sees red, and stabs the man, to be struck down dead himself a moment later.
When almost face to face with her Bogdan stood still. "Marcsa!" he repeated in a whisper, his gaze fastened upon her face anxiously. He saw her turn pale, white as chalk, saw her eyes leap to and fro uneasily, from his left cheek to his right cheek, and back again. Then horror came into her eyes. She clapped her hands to her face, and turned and ran away as fast as her legs would carry her.
The poor, old maid-servants cannot touch a morsel of it. "Stop whining, Borcsa!" roared Sárvölgyi, frowning. "You will do what I order. The pig must be caught and given to Marcsa." The pig, unsuspicious of danger, was wandering about in the courtyard. "Well, I shall not catch it," whimpered Mistress Boris. "Marcsa'll do that."
And Marcsa, the beautiful Marcsa whom all the men were vying for, would she be the wife of a miserable day laborer? No, of this John Bogdan was certain, the man sitting on the bench there was no longer John Bogdan to Marcsa. She would not have him now no more than the lord would have him on the coachman's box.
"Good day, my daughter," said the master gently. "Well he actually calls the ragged gypsy woman 'my daughter," grumbled the old housekeeper. "Blood is thicker than water." "Well, what have you brought, Marcsa?"
Kólya said nothing to her, he merely let her pass before him, and followed her on the other side of the street, until she reached the middle of the market-place, where many loiterers sauntered and listened to the tales of his wife. "Halt, Marcsa!" cried Kólya, standing in the gypsy woman's way. "What do you want?" she asked, shrugging her shoulders. "What have you in your basket?"
For Marcsa there was only one John Bogdan, the one that was coachman to the lord of the castle and the handsomest man in the village. Was he still coachman? The lord would take care not to disgrace his magnificent pair with such a scarecrow or drive to the county seat with such a monstrosity on the box. Haying that's what they would put him to cleaning out the dung from the stables.
He had gone through life whistling contentedly, a good-looking alert lad, an excellent jockey, and a coachman who drove with style and loved his horses, as his horses loved him. When he deigned to toss a kiss to the women as he dashed by, he was accustomed to see a flattered smile come to their faces. Only with Marcsa did it take a little longer. But she was famous for her beauty far and wide.
Just speak straight out if you don't want me any more. Straight wine is what I want, no mixture. Yes or no? I won't force you to marry me. Just say it right away yes or no?" Marcsa was silent. There was something in his face, in his one eye, that took her breath away, that dug into her vitals like cold fingers. She cast her eyes down and stammered: "But you have no position yet. How can we marry?
Bogdan observed the change and saw that her gaze traveled over his shoulder. He let go her hand and turned instantly. Just what he thought the master coming out of the machine shop. His old forester, Toth, followed him. Marcsa bounded past Bogdan like a cat and ran up to the lord and bent over and kissed his hand. Bogdan saw the three of them draw near and lowered his head like a ram for attack.
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