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Updated: June 11, 2025
That evening at dinner Harsanyi sat looking intently into a glass of heavy yellow wine; boring into it, indeed, with his one eye, when his face suddenly broke into a smile. "What is it, Andor?" his wife asked. He smiled again, this time at her, and took up the nutcrackers and a Brazil nut.
No letters or sign of life had come from him, but, then, many of the lads never wrote home while they did their three years, and Andor had no one to write to. He would not be allowed to write to Elsa, or, rather, Elsa would never be allowed to receive letters from him, and his uncle Lakatos Pál, the old miser, would only be furious with him for spending his few fillérs on note-paper and stamps.
Now they can afford to wait, and Andor will do it with confidence, he is a man and he is free. He viewed the future as a master views his slave; the future is his to do with what he likes, to mould, to shape in accordance with his will. The land which must one day be his, and Elsa his already!
Girls who had flirted with him wept bitter tears, the mothers who thought how rich Andor would have been now that old Lakatos was sure to die very soon sighed deep sighs of regret. Many there were who never believed that Andor was dead.
The tight-fitting corslet bodice and the full, white sleeves of the shift make her figure appear peculiarly slim and girlish, and her bare throat and shoulders are smooth and warmly tinted like some luscious fruit. No wonder that Andor feels this dance, this movement, the music, the girl's sweet, quick breath, going to his head like wine.
Well, the latter could tell no tales, and she, of course, would say nothing. Already she had determined even though her mind was still confused and her faculties still numb that ignorance would be the safest stronghold behind which she could entrench herself. There remained Leo himself, the young Count, and, of course, Andor. Which of these three would she have the greatest cause to fear?
He turned to go, and already his hand was on the latch of the door when an involuntary cry, like a desperate appeal, escaped her lips. "Andor!" "What is it?" he said, speaking over his shoulder.
She held her head a little downcast; people thought this most becoming in a young bride; but Andor, who stood in the forefront of the spectators as she passed, saw that she held her head down because her cheeks were pale and her eyes swollen with tears.
"You don't see it?" "No." "Then perhaps you were not aware of the fact," said Béla blandly, as he toyed with the key, "that papa Goldstein is going off to Kecskemét to-night." "Yes," replied Andor slowly, "I did know that, but .
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.
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