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"We all hope he will, because of Lakatos Pál. The poor man is fretting himself into his grave, since he has realized that when he dies his money and land must all go to the Government." "He can sell his land and distribute his money while he lives," retorted Béla; "but you won't catch him doing that the old miser." "Can't anything more be done? about Andor, I mean."
But the lad only listens with half an ear, his dark eyes roam around the barn in search of the sweetheart; he wants one more protestation of love from her lips, one final oath of fidelity. Andor has neither father to admonish him, nor mother to pray over him; the rich uncle Lakatos Pál, with whom he has lived hitherto, does not care enough about him to hang weeping round his neck.
So no one in Marosfalva knew that Andor had died of cholera in the hospital of Slovnitza until Lakatos Pál became sick, and in his loneliness spoke of the matter to Pater Bonifácius. Then there was universal mourning in the village. Andor had always been very popular: good-looking, as merry as a skylark and a splendid dancer, he was always the life and soul of every entertainment.
"Take care of what?" shouted Béla in unbridled rage. He faced Andor, and his one sinister eye shot a glance of deadly hatred upon him. "Let me tell you this, my friend, Lakatos Andor. I don't know where you have sprung from to-day, or why you have chosen to-day to do it .
But already she had recovered herself a little, and Lakatos Andor's somewhat dictatorial tone grated upon her sensitive ear. "There's nothing the matter with me," she retorted, with a return of her habitual flippancy. "What should be the matter?"
An official letter announcing his demise was sent to Lakatos Pál, his uncle and sole relative, but Lakatos only threw the letter into a drawer and said nothing about it to anybody. It was nobody's business, he said.
Then, when Lakatos Pál first became ill long even before he confided in Pater Bonifácius I made inquiries at the War Office and found out the truth." "Whatever made you do that?" asked Irma, with a shrug of the shoulders. "Andor wasn't anything to you."
And now she knew or thought she knew exactly what had happened. Lakatos Andor had been to the castle; he had seen my lord and got the key away from him.
The War Office up at Budapest sent an equally official document saying that they had no knowledge on those three points: Lakatos Andor was one of those whose names appeared on the list of deaths from cholera at Slovnitza, and that was quite sufficient proof to offer to any reasonable human being.
The general consensus of opinion seemed to be that it was as well Andor was going away for three years. Old Kapus and his wife would never allow their daughter to marry a man with pockets as empty as their own, and it was no use waiting for dead men's shoes. Lakatos Pál, the rich uncle, from whom Andor was bound to inherit some day, was little past the prime of life.
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