Debts of Honor Part 56

THE YELLOW-ROBED WOMAN IN THE CARDS

Lorand deferred as long as possible the time for coming to an agreement with Desiderius as to what they should both do, when the fatal ten years had pa.s.sed by.

His mother and grandmother would be sure to press the latter, when the defined period was over, to tell them of Lorand's whereabouts. But if they learned the story and sought him out, there would be an end to his saving alias: the happy man who was living in the person of Balint Tatray would be obliged to yield place to Lorand aronffy who would have to choose between death and the sneers of the world.

When he had made Desiderius undertake, ten years before, not to betray his whereabouts to his parents, he had always calculated and intended to fulfil his fatal obligation. Desiderius alone would be acquainted with the end, and would still keep from the two mothers the secret history of his brother. They had during this time become accustomed to knowing that he was far from them, and his brother would, to the day of their death, always put them under the happy delusion that their son would once again knock at the door, and would show them the letters his brother had written; while he would in reality long have gone to the place, from whence men bring no messages back to the light of the sun. Yet the good peaceful mothers would every day lay a place at table for the son they expected, when the gla.s.s had long burst of its own accord.

In place of this cold, clean, transparent dream is now that hot chaos.

What should he do now that he wished to live, to enjoy life, to see happy days?

Wherever he would go, in the street, in the field, in the house, everywhere he would feel himself walking in that labyrinth; everywhere that endless chain would clank after him, which began again where it had ended.

He did not even notice, when some one pa.s.sed him, whether he greeted him or not.

To escape, to exchange his word of honor for his life, to shut out the whole world from his secret--what has pride to say to that?--what the memory of the father who in a like case bowed before his self-pride and cast his life and happiness as a sacrifice before the feet of his honor?

What would the tears of the two mothers say?--how could tender-handed love fight alone against so strong adversaries?

How could Balint Tatray shake off from himself that whole world which cleaved like a sea of mud to Lorand aronffy?

As he proceeded in deep reflection beside the village houses, his hat pressed firmly down over his eyes, he did not even notice that from the other direction a lady was crossing the rough road, making straight for him, until as she came beside him she addressed him with affected gaiety:

"Good day, Lorand."

The young fellow, startled at hearing his name, looked up amazed and gazed into the speaker's face.

She, with the cheery smile of undoubted recognition, grasped his hand.

"Yes, yes! I recognized you again after so long a time had pa.s.sed, though you know me no more, my dear Lorand."

Oh! Lorand knew her well enough! And that woman--was Madame Balnokhazy....

Her face still possessed the beautiful n.o.ble features of yore; only in her manner the n.o.blewoman's graceful dignity had given way to a certain unpleasant freedom which is the peculiarity of such women as are often compelled to save themselves from all kinds of delicate situations by humorous levity.

She was dressed for a journey, quite fas.h.i.+onably, albeit a little creased.

"You here?" inquired Lorand, astonished.

"Certainly: quite by accident. I have just left my carriage at the Sarvolgyi's. I have won a big suit in chancery, and have come to the 'old man' to see if I could sell him the property, which he said he was ready to purchase. Then I shall take my daughter home with me."

"Indeed?"

"Of course--poor thing, she has lived long enough in orphan state in the house of a half-madman. But be so kind as to give me your arm to lean on: why I believe you are still afraid of me: it is so difficult, you know, for some one who is not used to it, to walk along these muddy rough country roads.--I am going to sell my property which I have won, because we must go to live in Vienna."

"Indeed?"

"Because Melanie's intended lives there too."

"Indeed?"

"Perhaps you would know him too,--you were once good friends--Pepi Gyali!"

"Indeed?"

"Oh, he has made a great career! An extraordinarily famous man. Quite a wonder, that young man!"

"Indeed?"

"But you only taunt me with your series of 'indeeds.' Tell me how you came here. How have I found you?"

"I am steward here on Mr. Topandy's estate!"

"Steward! Ha ha! To your kinsman?"

"He does not know I am his kinsman."

"So you are incognito? Ever since _then_? Just like me: I have used six names since that day. That is famous. And now we meet by chance. So much the better; at least you can lead me to Topandy's house: the atheist's dogs will not tear me to pieces if I am under your protection.--But after that you must help again to defend me."

Lorand was displeased by the fact that this woman turned into jest those memories in which the shame of both lay buried.

Topandy was on the verandah of the castle in company with the girls when Lorand led in the strange lady.

Lorand went first to Melanie:

"Here is the one you have so often sighed after," ... then turning to Topandy--"Madame Balnokhazy."

For a moment Melanie was taken aback. She merely stared in astonishment at the new arrival, as if it were difficult to recognize her at once, while her mother, with a pa.s.sion quite dramatic, rushed towards her, embraced her, clasped her to her bosom, and covered her with kisses. She sobbed and kneeled before her; as one may see times without number in the closing scene of the fifth act of any pathetic drama.

"How beautiful you have become! What an angel! My darling, only, beloved Melanie!--for whom I prayed every day, of whom every day I dreamed.--Well, tell me, have you thought sometimes of me?"

Melanie whispered in her mother's ear:

"Later, when we are alone."

The woman understood that well ("later when we are alone, we can talk of cold, prosaic things: but when they see us, let us weep, faint, and embrace.") This scene of meeting was going to begin anew, only Topandy was good enough to kindly request her ladys.h.i.+p to step into the room, where s.p.a.ce was confined, and circ.u.mstances are more favorable to dramatic episodes. Madame Balnokhazy then became gay and talkative. She thanked Topandy (the old atheistical fool) thousands, millions of times, for giving a place of refuge to her child, for guarding her only treasure. Then she looked around to see whom else she had to thank. She saw Czipra.

"Why," she said to Lorand, "you have not yet introduced me to your wife."

Everybody became embarra.s.sed--with the exception of Topandy, who answered with calm humor:

"She is my ward, and has been so many years."

"Oh! A thousand apologies for my clumsiness. I certainly thought she was already married."

Madame Balnokhazy had time to remark that Czipra's eyes, when they looked upon Lorand, seemed like the eyes of faithfulness: and she had a delicious opportunity of cutting to the heart two, if not three people.

"Well, it seems to me what is not may be, may it not, 'Lorand?'"

"Lorand!" cried three voices in one.