The nameless castle

When Herr Bernat Görömbölyi, in his character of emissary, arrived at the manor, he proceeded at once to state his errand:

"My lovely sister Katinka, I am come a-wooing—as this nosegay on my breast indicates. I ask your hand for a brave, handsome, and young cavalier."

"Thank you very much for the honor, my dear Bernat bácsi, but I intend to remain faithful to my vow never to marry."

"Then you send me out of your house with a mitten, Katinka hugom?"

"I should prefer to detain you as a welcome guest."

"Thanks; but I cannot stop to-day. I am invited to a betrothal feast over at the Nameless Castle. The count intends to wed in a few weeks."

He had been watching, while speaking, the effect of this announcement on the lovely face before him.

Baroness Katharina, however, acted as if nothing interested her so much as the letter she was embroidering with gold thread on a red streamer for a militia flag.

"The count is in a hurry," continued Herr Bernat, "for he may have to ride at the head of a company of militia to the war in less than three weeks."

Here the cruel needle thrust its point into the fair worker's rosy finger.

Herr Bernat smiled roguishly; and said:

"If it is no secret," was the indifferent response.

"It is no secret for me, and I am allowed to repeat it. The charming lady Count Vavel intends to wed is—Katharina Landsknechtsschild!"

The baroness suddenly dropped her embroidery, sprang to her feet, and surveyed the smiling emissary with her brows drawn into a frown.

"It is quite true," continued Herr Bernat. "Count Vavel sent me here to beg you to answer the words he spoke to you on an eventful occasion. Do you remember them?"

The lady's countenance did not brighten as she replied:

"Yes, I remember the words; but between them and my reply there is a veil that separates the two."

"The veil has been removed."

"Ah! Then you saw the lady of the castle without her veil? Is she pretty?"

"More than pretty!"

"And who is she? What is she to Count Vavel?"

"She is not your rival, my pretty sister Katinka; she is neither wife nor betrothed to Count Vavel—nor yet his secret love."

"Then she must be his sister—or daughter."

"No; she is neither sister nor daughter."

"Then what is she? Not a servant?"

"No; she is his mistress."

"His mistress?"

"Yes, his mistress—as my queen is my mistress."

"Ah!" There was a peculiar gleam in the lovely baroness's eyes. Then she came nearer to Herr Bernat, and asked with womanly shyness: "And you believe the count—loves me?"

With sudden impulsiveness the baroness extended both hands to Herr Bernat, and said earnestly:

"With all my heart I consent to be Count Vavel's betrothed wife!"

"And I may fly to him with this answer?"

"Yes—on condition that you take me with you."

"What, baroness? You wish to go to the castle—now?"

"Yes, now—this very moment—in these clothes! I have no one to ask what I should or should not do, and—he needs me."

When his emissary had departed, Count Vavel began to reflect whether he had not been rather hasty. Had he done right in giving to the world his zealously guarded secret?

But there lay the royal manifesto on the table; there was no doubting that. The venture must be made now or never. If only d'Avoncourt were free! How well he would know what to do in this emergency!

His meditations were interrupted by Marie, who came running into his study, laughing and clapping her hands. She snatched the pen from his fingers, and flung it on the floor.

"She is coming! She is coming!" she cried in jubilant tones.

"Who is coming?" asked Ludwig, surveying the young girl in surprise.

"Who? Why, the lady who is to be my mother—the beautiful lady from the manor."

"What nonsense, Marie! How can you give voice to such impossible nonsense?"

"But the vice-palatine would not be returning to the castle in two carriages!" persisted the maid. "Come and see them for yourself!"

She drew him from his chair to the window in the dining-room, where his own eyes convinced him of the truth of Marie's announcement.

Already the two vehicles were crossing the causeway, and the baroness's rose-colored parasol gleamed among the trees. Deeply agitated, Count Vavel hastened to meet her.

"May I come with you?" shyly begged Marie, following him.

"I beg that you will come," was the reply; and the two, guardian and ward, hand in hand, descended to the entrance-hall.

While yet several paces distant, she held out her hand toward Count Vavel, and, with a charming mixture of embarrassment and candor, said:

"Yes, I am."

This was her confirmation of the words Vavel had spoken in the forest in the presence of the three dragoon officers: "She is my betrothed."

Vavel lifted the white hand to his lips. Then Katharina quickly passed onward toward Marie, who had timidly held back.

The baroness grasped the young girl's hands in both her own, and looked long and earnestly into the fair face lifted shyly toward her. Then she said:

"It was not for his sake I came so precipitately. He could have waited. They told me your heart yearned for a mother's care, and it must not be kept waiting."

After this speech the two young women embraced. Which was the first to sob, which kiss was the warmer, cannot be known; but that Marie was the happier was certain. For the first time in years she was permitted to embrace a woman and tell her she loved her. Ludwig Vavel looked with delight on the meeting between the two, and gratefully pressed the hand of his successful emissary.

When the two young women had sobbed out their hearts to each other, they began to laugh and jest. Was not the mother still a girl, like the daughter?

"You must come with me to the manor?" said Katharina, as, with arms entwined about each other, they entered the castle. "I shall not allow you to stop longer in this lonely place."

"And I am not to be asked if I consent to this abduction of my ward?" here smilingly interposed Count Vavel.

"Why can't you come with us?" innocently inquired Marie.

The other young woman laughed merrily.

"He may come for a brief visit; later we will let him come to stay always." Then she added in a more serious tone: "Count Vavel, you may rest perfectly content that your treasure will be safe with me. My house is prepared for assault. My people are brave and well armed. There is no possible chance of another attack from robbers like that from which you delivered me."

"Ludwig delivered you from robbers?" repeated Marie, in astonishment. "When? How?"

"Then he did not tell you about his adventure? What a singular man!"

Here the vice-palatine interposed with: "What is this I hear? Robbers? I heard nothing about robbers."

"The baroness herself asked me not to speak of the affair," explained the count.

"Yes, but I did not forbid you to tell Marie, Herr Count," responded Katharina.

"'Baroness'—'Herr Count'?" repeated Marie, turning questioningly from her guardian to their fair neighbor. "Why don't you call each other by your Christian names?"

They were spared an explanation by Herr Bernat, who again observed:

"Robbers? I confess I should like to hear about this robbery?"

"That is better!" applauded Marie, hurrying her "little mother" into the reception-room, where the wonderful story of the robbery was repeated.

And what an attentive listener was the fair young girl! Her lips were pressed tightly together; her eyes were opened to their widest extent—like those of a child who hears a wonderful fairy tale. Even the vice-palatine from time to time ejaculated:

"Darvalia!" "Beste karaffia!"—which, doubtless, were the proper terms to apply to marauding rascals.

But when the baroness came to that part of her story where Count Vavel, with his walking-stick, put to flight the four robbers, Marie's face glowed with pride. Surely there was not another brave man like her Ludwig in the whole world!

"That was our first meeting," concluded Katharina laughingly, laying her hand on that of her betrothed husband, who was leaning against the arm of her chair.

"I should like to know why you both thought it best to keep this robbery a secret?" remarked Herr Bernat.

"The real reason," explained Count Vavel, "was because the baroness did not want her protégé, Satan Laczi's wife, persecuted."

"Hum! if everybody was as generous as you two, then robbery would become a lucrative business!"

"You must remember," Katharina made haste to protest, "that all this has been told to the matrimonial emissary, and not to the vice-palatine. On no account are any arrests to be made!"

"But how do you know that Satan Laczi and his comrades will join the army?" inquired Herr Bernat.

"Satan Laczi told me so himself—one night here in the castle. He opened all the doors and cupboards, while I was in the observatory, and waited for me in my study."

It was the ladies' turn now to exhibit the liveliest interest. Each seized a hand of the speaker, and listened attentively to his description of the robber's midnight visit to the castle.

"Good!" was Herr Bernat's comment, when the count had concluded. "An amnesty shall be granted to Satan Laczi and his crew if they will submit themselves to the Herr Count's military discipline."

The little servant, Satan Laczi, junior, interrupted the conversation. He came to announce dinner. Lisette had not needed any instructions. She knew what was expected of her when a visitor happened to be at the castle at meal-times. Besides, she wanted to show the lady from the manor what she could do. Not since the count's arrival at the Nameless Castle had there been so cheerful a meal as to-day. Marie sparkled with delight; the baroness was wit personified; and the vice-palatine bubbled over with anecdotes. When the roast appeared he raised his glass for a serious toast:

"To our beloved fatherland. Vivat! To our revered king. Vivat! To our adored queen. Vivat!"

Count Vavel promptly responded, as did also the ladies. Then the count refilled the glasses, and, raising his own above his head, cried:

"And now, another vivat to my queen! Long may she reign, and gloriously! And," he added, with sudden fierceness, "may all who are her enemies perish miserably!"

"Ludwig, for heaven's sake!" ejaculated Marie, in terror. "Look at Katharina; she is ill."

And, indeed, the baroness's lovely face was pallid as that of a corpse. Her eyes were closed; her head had fallen back against her chair.

Ludwig and Marie sprang to her side, the young girl exclaiming reproachfully:

"Don't be frightened," returned Ludwig, assuringly; "it is only a passing illness, and will soon be over."

He had restored the fair woman to consciousness on another occasion; he knew, therefore, what to do now. After a few minutes the baroness opened her eyes again. She forced a smile to her lips, shivered once or twice, then whispered to Ludwig, who was bending over her with a glass of water:

"I don't need any water. We were going to drink a toast; wine is required for that ceremony."

She extended her trembling hand, clasped the stem of her glass, and, raising it, continued: "I drink to your toast, Count Vavel! And here is to my dear little daughter, my good little Marie. May God preserve her from all harm!"

"You may safely drink to Ludwig's toast," gaily assented Marie, "safely wish that the enemies of your Marie may 'perish miserably,' for she has no enemies."

"No; she has no enemies," repeated the baroness in a low tone, as she pressed the young girl closely to her breast.

A few minutes later, when Katharina had regained her usual self-command, she said:

"Marie, my dear little daughter, I know that our friend Ludwig is eager to discuss war plans with his emissary. Let us, therefore, give him the opportunity to do so, while we make our plans for quite a different sort of war!"

"What!" jestingly exclaimed Count Vavel, "my lovely betrothed speaks thus of her preparations for our wedding?"

"The task is not so easy as you imagine," retorted Katharina. "There will be a great deal to do, and I mean to take Marie with me."

"To-day?"

"Lisette was very fond of me once," observed Marie; "and there was a time when she did everything for me."

"Then she must come with us to the manor to a well-deserved rest. I can send one of my servants over here to attend to the wants of the gentlemen."

The two ladies now took leave of Count Vavel and his visitor. Marie led the way to her own apartments, where she introduced the cats and dogs to Katharina. Then she drew her into the alcove, and secretly pulled the cord at the head of the bed.

"Now you are my prisoner," she said to the baroness, who was looking about her in a startled manner. "Were I your enemy—your rival—I should not need to do anything to gratify my enmity but refuse to reveal the secret of this screen, and you would have to die here alone with me."

"Good heavens, Marie! How can you frighten me so?" exclaimed Katharina, in alarm.

"Ha, ha!" merrily laughed the young girl, "then I have really frightened you? But don't be alarmed; directly some one will come who will not let you 'perish miserably.'"

The baroness's face grew suddenly pallid; but she quickly recovered herself as Count Vavel came hastily into the outer room.

"Did you summon me, Marie?" he called, when he saw that the screen was down.

"Yes, I summoned you," replied Marie. "I want you to repeat the good-night wish you give me every night."

"No; but you will not see me again to-day, so you must wish me good night now."

Ludwig came near to the screen, and said in a low, earnest tone:

"May God give you a good night, Marie! May angels watch over you! May Heaven receive your prayers, and may you dream of happiness and freedom. Good night!"

Then he turned and walked out of the room.

"That is his daily custom," whispered Marie. Then she pressed her foot on the spring in the floor, and the screen was lifted.

Lisette had finished her tasks in the kitchen when the two ladies came to pay her a visit. She was sitting in a low, stoutly made chair which had been fashioned expressly for her huge frame, and was shuffling a pack of cards when the ladies entered.

She did not lay the cards to one side, nor did she rise from her chair when the baroness came toward her and said in a friendly tone:

"Well, Lisette, I dare say you do not know that I am your neighbor from the manor?"

"Oh, yes, I do. I used often to hear my poor old man talk about the beautiful lady over yonder, and of course you must be she."

"And do you know that I expect to be Count Vavel's wife?"

"I did not know it, your ladyship, but it is natural. A gallant gentleman and a beautiful lady—if they are thrown together then there follows either marriage or danger. A marriage is better than a danger."

"This time, Lisette, marriage and danger go hand in hand. The count is preparing for the war."

This announcement had no other effect on the impassive mountain of flesh than to make her shuffle her cards more rapidly.

"Yes," continued the baroness; "the recruiting-flag already floats from the tower of the castle, and to-morrow volunteers will begin to enroll their names."

"God help them!" again muttered the woman.

"I am going to take your young mistress home with me, Lisette," again remarked the baroness. "It would not be well to leave her here, amid the turmoil of recruiting and the clashing of weapons, would it?"

"I can't say. My business is in the kitchen; I don't know anything about matters out of it," replied Lisette, still shuffling her cards.

"But I intend to take you out of the kitchen, Lisette," returned the baroness. "I don't intend to let you work any more. You shall live with us over at the manor, in a room of your own, and, if you wish, have a little kitchen all to yourself, and a little maid to wait on you. You will come with us, will you not?"

"I thank your ladyship; but I had rather stay where I am."

"But why?"

"Because I should be a trouble to everybody over yonder. I am a person that suits only herself. I don't know how to win the good will of other people. I don't keep a cat or a dog, because I don't want to love anything. Besides, I have many disagreeable habits. I use snuff, and I can't agree with anybody. I am best left to myself, your ladyship."

"But what will become of you when both your master and mistress are gone from the castle?"

"I shall do what I have always done, your ladyship. The Herr Count promised that I should never want for anything to cook so long as I lived."

"I am not afraid to be alone. I have no money, and I don't think anybody would undertake to carry me off! I am never lonely. I can't read,—for which I thank God!—so that never bothers me. I don't like to knit; for ever since I saw those terrible women sitting around the guillotine and knitting, knitting, knitting all day long, I can't bear to see the motion of five needles. So I just amuse myself with these cards; and I don't need anything else."

"But surely your heart will grow sore when you do not see your little mistress daily?"

"Daily—daily, your ladyship? This is the second time I have laid eyes on her face in six years! There was a time when I saw her daily, hourly—when she needed me all the time. Is not that so, my little mistress? Don't you remember how I had a little son, and how he called me chère maman, and I called him mon petit garçon?"

As she spoke, she laid the cards one by one on her snowy apron. She looked intently at them for several moments, then continued:

"No; I don't need to know anything, only that she is safe. She will always be carefully guarded from all harm, and my cards will always tell me all I need know about mon petit garçon. No, your ladyship; I shall not go with you; I cannot leave the place where my poor Henry died."

"Poor Lisette! what a tender heart is yours!"

"Lisette—dear Lisette," remonstrated Marie.

"Have you ever seen me weep?" demanded the woman.

"No, Lisette; but—"

"Did I ever sigh," interrupted Lisette, "or moan, or grieve, that time when we spent many days and nights together in one room?"

"No, no; never, Lisette."

The woman turned in her chair to a chest that stood by her side, opened it, and took out a package carefully wrapped first in paper, then in a linen cloth.

When she had removed the wrappings, she held up in her hands a child's chemise and petticoat.

"What is needed to complete these, your ladyship?" she asked.

"A dear little child, I should say," answered Katharina, indulgently.

"You are right—a dear little child."

"Where is the child, Lisette?"

Marie came close to the singular woman, bent over her, and pressed a kiss on the fat cheeks, then held her own for a return caress.

This action of the young girl seemed to please the woman. She struggled to her feet, muttering: "She is still the same. May God guard her from all harm!" Then she waddled toward Katharina, took her slender hand in her own broad palm, and added: "Take good care of my treasure, your ladyship. Up to now, I have taken the broomstick every evening, before going to bed, and thrust it under all the furniture, to see if there might not be a thief hidden somewhere. You will have to do that now. A great treasure, great care! And, your ladyship, when you shall have in your house such a little chemise and petticoat, with the little child in them, trotting after you, chattering and laughing, clasping her arms round you and kissing you, and if some one should say to you, as they said to me, 'How great a treasure would induce you to exchange this little somebody in the red petticoat for it?' and if you should say, 'I will give up the child for so much,' then, your ladyship, you too may say, as I say, that your heart is a heart of stone."

Katharina's face had grown very white. She staggered toward Marie, caught her arm, and drew her toward the door, gasping:

"Come—come—let us go. The steam—the heat of—the kitchen makes—me faint."

The fresh air of the court soon revived her.

"Let us play a trick on Ludwig," she suggested. "We will take his canoe, and cross the cove to the manor. We can send it back with a servant."

They were soon in the boat. Marie, who had learned to row from Ludwig, sent the little craft gliding over the water, while Katharina held the rudder.

Very soon they were in the park belonging to the manor; and how delighted Marie was to see everything!

A herd of deer crossed their path, summoned to the feeding-place by a blast from the game-keeper's horn. The graceful animals were so tame that a hind stopped in front of the two ladies, and allowed them to rub her head and neck. Oh, how much there was to see and enjoy over here!

Katharina could hardly keep pace with the eager young girl, who would have liked to examine the entire park at once.

What a number of questions she asked! And how astonished she was when Katharina told her the large birds in the farm-yard were hens and turkeys. She had never dreamed that these creatures could be so pretty. She had never seen them before—not even a whole one served on the table, only the slices of white meat which Lisette had always cut off for her. But what delighted her more than anything else was that she might meet people, look fearlessly at them, and be stared at in return, and cordially return their friendly "God give you a good day!"

What a pleasure it was to stop the women and children, with all sorts and shapes of burdens on their heads or in their arms, and ask what they were carrying in the heavy hampers; to call to the peasant girls who were singing merrily, and ask where they had learned the pretty songs.

"Oh, how delightful it is here!" she exclaimed, flinging her arms around the baroness. "I should like to dig and work in the garden all day long with these merry girls. How happy I shall be here!"

"Ride?" echoed Marie, in smiling surprise. "Yes—on a rocking-horse."

"Then you will very soon learn to sit on a living horse."

"Do you really believe I shall?" breathlessly exclaimed Marie.

"Yes; I have a very gentle horse which you shall have for your own."

"One of those dear, tiny little horses from which one could not fall? I have seen them in picture-books."

"He is not so very small; but you will not be afraid of falling off when you have learned to ride. Then, when you can manage your horse, we will ride after the hounds—"

"No, no," hastily interposed the young girl; "I shall never do that. I could not bear to see an animal hurt or killed."

"You will have to accustom yourself to seeing such sights, my dear little daughter. Riding and hunting are necessary accomplishments; besides, they strengthen the nerves."

"Have not the peasant women got strong nerves, little mama?"

"Yes; but they strengthen them by hard work, such as washing clothes."

"Then let us wash clothes, too."

Katharina smiled indulgently on the innocent maid, and the two now entered the manor, where Marie made the acquaintance of Fräulein Lotti, the baroness's companion.

Marie's attention was attracted by the number of books she saw everywhere; and they were all new to her. Ludwig had never brought anything like them to the castle. There were poems, histories, romances, fables. Ah, how she would enjoy reading every one of them!

Her admiration for the baroness increased when that lady told her the picture was the work of her own hand.

"How very clever you must be, little mama! I wonder if you could paint my portrait?"

"I will try it to-morrow," smilingly replied the baroness.

"And what is this—this great monster with so many teeth?" she asked, running to the piano.

Katharina told her the name of the "monster," and, seating herself in front of the "teeth," began to play.

Marie was in an ecstasy of delight.

"How happy you ought to be, little mama, to be able to make such beautiful music!" she cried, when Katharina turned again toward her.

"You shall learn to play, too; Fräulein Lotti will teach you."

For this promise Marie ran to Fräulein Lotti and embraced her.

While at dinner Marie suddenly remembered that she had not yet seen the little water-monster, and inquired about him.

The baroness told her that the boy had gone back to his fish companions in the lake; then asked: "But where did you ever see the creature?"

Marie hesitated a moment before replying; a natural modesty forbade her from confessing to Ludwig's betrothed wife that he had taught her how to swim, and had always accompanied her on her swimming excursions in his canoe.

"I saw him once with you in the park, when I was looking through the telescope," she answered, with some confusion.

"How else could I have learned that you are so good and beautiful?" frankly returned the young girl.

"Ah, I have an idea," suddenly observed the baroness. "That spy-glass is here now. The surveyor to whom Ludwig gave it sent it to me when he had done with it. Come, we will pay Herr Ludwig back in his own coin! We will spy out what the gentlemen are doing over at the castle."

Marie was charmed with this suggestion, and willingly accompanied her "little mama" to the veranda, where the familiar telescope greeted her sight.

Two of the windows in that side of the Nameless Castle which faced the manor were lighted.

"That is the dining-room; they are at dinner," explained Marie, adjusting the glass—a task of which the baroness was ignorant. When she had arranged the proper focus, she made room for Katharina, who had a better right than she had to watch Ludwig.

"What do you see?" she asked, when Katharina began to smile.

"I see Ludwig and the vice-palatine; they are leaning out of the window, and smoking—"

"Smoking?" interposed Marie. "Ludwig never smokes."

"See for yourself!"

Katharina stepped back, and Marie placed her eye to the glass. Yes; there, plainly enough, she beheld the remarkable sight: Ludwig, with evident enjoyment, drawing great clouds of smoke from a long-stemmed pipe. The two men were talking animatedly; but even while they were speaking, the pipes were not removed from their lips—Ludwig, indeed, at times vanished entirely behind the dense cloud of smoke.

She seemed relieved when the baroness assured her that tobacco smoke was not in the least objectionable.

Some time later, when reminded that it was time for little girls to be in bed, Marie protested stoutly that she was not sleepy.

"Pray, little mama," she begged, "let us look a little longer through the telescope; it is so interesting."

But even while she was giving voice to her petition the windows in the dining-room over at the castle became darkened. The gentlemen evidently had retired to their rooms for the night.

"Oh, ah-h," yawned Marie, "I am sleepy, after all! Come, little mama, we will go to bed."

Katharina herself conducted the young girl to her room. Marie exclaimed with surprise and delight when, on entering the room adjoining the baroness's own sleeping-chamber, she beheld her own furniture—the canopy-bed, the book-shelves, toys, card-table, everything. Even Hitz, Mitz, Pani, and Miura sat in a row on the sofa, and Phryxus and Helle came waddling toward her, and sat up on their hind legs.

The things had been brought over from the castle while the baroness and Marie were in the park.

"You will feel more at home with your belongings about you," said Katharina, as she returned the grateful girl's good-night kiss.

THE HUNGARIAN MILITIA

When Count Vavel and the vice-palatine disappeared from the window of the dining-room, they did not retire to their pillows. They went to Ludwig's study, where they refilled their pipes for another smoke.

"But tell me, Herr Vice-palatine," said the count, continuing the conversation which had begun at the dining-table, "why is it that six months have been allowed to pass since the Diet passed the militia law without anything having been accomplished?"

"Well, you must know that there are three essential parts among the works of a clock," returned Herr Bernat, complacently puffing away at his pipe. "There is the spring, the pendulum, and the escapement. The wheels are the subordinates. The spring is the law passed by the Diet. The pendulum is the palatine office, which has to set the law in motion; the escapement is the imperial counselor of war. The wheels are the people. We will keep to the technical terms, if you please. When the spring was wound up, the pendulum began to set the wheels going. They turned, and the loyal nobles of the country began to enroll their names—"

"How many do you suppose enrolled their names?" interrupted the count.

"For heaven's sake! What a preamble!" ejaculated the count. "But go on. The first minute?"

"Yes; the first minute a stoppage occurred caused by the escapement objecting to furnish canteens; if the militiamen wanted canteens they must provide them themselves."

"I trust the clock was not allowed to stop for want of a few canteens," ironically observed Count Vavel.

"Moreover," continued the vice-palatine, not heeding the interruption, "the escapement gave them to understand that brass drums could not be furnished—only wooden ones—"

"They will do their duty, too, if properly handled," again interpolated Vavel.

"A more disastrous check, however, was the decision of the Komitate that the uniform was to consist of red trousers and light-blue dolman—"

"A picturesque uniform, at any rate!"

"There was a good deal of argument about it; but at last it was decided that the companies from the Danube should adopt light-blue dolmans, and those from the Theiss dark-blue."

"Thank heaven something was decided!"

"That certainly would make the uniform of more value to the wearer!"

"Would have made, Herr Count; would have made! The escapement suddenly announced that the cloth could not be purchased; for, while the dispute about the colors of the uniform had been going on, the greedy merchants had advanced the price of all cloths to such an exorbitant figure that the government could n't afford to buy it."

"To the cuckoo with your escapement! The men have got to have uniforms!"

"Beg pardon; don't begin yet to waste expletives, else you will not have any left at the end of the hour! The counties then agreed to pay the sum advanced on the original price of the cloth, whereupon the escapement said the money would have to be forthcoming at once, as the cloth could not be bought on credit."

"Well, is there no treasury which could supply enough funds for this worthy object?" asked the count.

"Yes; there is the public treasury for current expenses. But the treasurer will not give any money to the militia until they are mounted and equipped; the escapement will not furnish the cloth for the uniforms without the money; and the treasury will not give any money until the militia has its uniforms!"

"Well, a man can fight without a uniform. If only these men have horses under them and weapons in their hands—"

"Well, the old ones will answer."

"They would if we had enough flints; but they are not to be had, because the insurrectionary Poles have captured the flint depot in Lemberg."

"Each man certainly could get a flint for himself."

"Even then there are only enough guns for about one half of the men. The escapement suggested that to those who had no arms it would furnish—halberds!"

"What? Halberds!" cried Vavel, losing all patience. "Halberds against Bonaparte? Halberds against the legions who have broken a path from one end of Europe to the other with their bayonets, and with them carved their triumphs on the pyramids? Halberds against them? Do you take me to be a fool, Herr Vice-palatine?"

He sprang to his feet and began to pace the floor excitedly, his guest meanwhile eying him with a roguish glance.

"There!" at last exclaimed Herr Bernat, "I will not tease you any longer. Fortunately, there is a clock-repairer who, so soon as he perceived how tardily the hands performed their task, with his finger twirled them around the entire dial, whereupon the clock struck the hour. This able repairer is our king, who at once advanced from his own exchequer enough money to equip the militia companies, distributed six thousand first-class cavalry sabers and sixteen cannon, and loaned the entire Hungarian life-guard to drill the newly formed regiments. And now, I will wager that our noble militia host will be ready for the field in less than thirty days, and that they will fight as well as the good Lord permitted them to learn how!"

"Why in the world did you not tell me this at once?" demanded Count Vavel.

"As I shall do!" appended Count Vavel. "I hope, Herr Vice-palatine, that you will not forget the amnesty for Satan Laczi and his men. They will be of special value as spies."

"I have a knot in my handkerchief for that, Herr Count, and shall be sure to remember. The company to be commanded by Count Ludwig Fertöszeg will be complete in a week."

"Why do you call me Fertöszeg?"

"Because a Hungarian name is better for your ensign than your own foreign one. Our people have an antipathy to everything foreign—and we have cause to complain of the Frenchmen who served in our army. Most of them were spies—tools of Napoleon's. Generals Moiselle and Lefebre surrendered fortified Laibach, together with its entire brigade, without discharging a gun. And even our quondam friend, the gallant Colonel Barthelmy, has taken Dutch leave and gone back to the enemy."

"What? Gone back to the enemy!" repeated Ludwig, springing from his chair, and laughing delightedly.

"The news seems to rejoice you," observed Herr Bernat.

"I shout for very joy! The thought that we might have to fight side by side annoyed me. Now, however, we shall be adversaries, and when we meet, the man who did not steal Ange Barthelmy will send her husband to the devil! And now, Herr Vice-palatine, I think it is time to say good night. It will be the first night in six years that I shall sleep quietly."

They shook hands, and separated for the night.