These connubial caresses seemed likely to have no end so far as Apafi was concerned—his wife was worth more to him than all Transylvania with the appurtenances thereof—till Anna disengaged herself from his arms with a smile, and said merrily—
“You lavish the outpourings of your heart on me alone, but there is someone else here who claims his share too;” and with that she beckoned to Dame Sarah, who had followed her mistress into the tent with a beaming countenance, and now unwrapped before Apafi’s eyes a pretty sleeping babe, whom the good nurse had been dangling about in a piece of silken tapestry.
Beside himself for joy, Apafi took the child in his arms and kissed its little round cherub face again and again. The child awaking, allowed itself to be kissed and hugged without uttering a cry, and snatched with its plump little be-ribboned arms at papa’s beard, which naturally gave papa indescribable delight.
The gentlemen standing around considered it their bounden duty to congratulate the Prince on his parental felicity, who, drunk with joy, exhibited his son to them and said—
“Look how serious he is. He doesn’t even cry. What a perfect little man it is!”
Meanwhile Anna beckoned to Stephen Apafi, and whispered to him—
“I am sure the gentlemen will not take it ill if the Prince’s family concerns and joys withdraw him for a few moments from public affairs.”
“Your Highness has taken the words out of my mouth,” replied Stephen. “I was just about to say the same thing to the gentlemen myself;” and turning towards the courtiers, he begged them to leave the Prince for a few moments in the bosom of his family, and meanwhile withdraw into the antechamber.
The gentlemen considered the request only natural, and at once retired, obsequiously giving precedence as they went to Kucsuk Pasha.
No sooner did Anna find herself alone with her consort, than she took the child from his arms, gave it back to Sarah, and sent them both away. Apafi now approached her with fresh demonstrations of tenderness, but she took him by the hand, gazed earnestly into his eyes, and said—
“It is to the Prince of Transylvania that I have come!”
Apafi was somewhat chilled by her steady look; but she, perceiving it, nestled closely up to him again, and said kindly—
“I was beginning to suspect that the Prince might have more need of me than the husband.” Then she added with a smile full of irresistible grace—“I hope you will not misconstrue my good intentions.”
Apafi embraced his wife, and made her sit down by his side. The chair of state was large enough to accommodate them both. It is true that the pretty wife had to sit half upon her husband’s knee, but that certainly did not inconvenience either of them.
“You are right,” said Apafi; “it is well that you are here. When I don’t see you I always feel that I lack something. At any rate you deserve to be nearest to my heart, and I’ll venture to set your judgment against the judgment of any of the gentlemen surrounding me.”
“Who are all these gentlemen?” asked Anna.
“You must know them all by name. The lanky man is Ladislaus Csaky, who offers me his son as a page.”
“He loses no time about it! A very little while ago the lad was John Kemeny’s page.”
Apafi began to look glum.
“The man with the large moustaches is Gabriel Haller.”
Anna smote her hands together in amazement.
“What! he here too?”
“What have you to find fault with in him?”
“I’ll tell you. He has always been the spy of your enemies. He brought Kemeny the first tidings of your installation, and of Kucsuk Pasha’s arrival at Segesvar.”
Apafi’s features grew still darker.
“And I have invited the gentleman to dinner!” he murmured between his teeth.
“And why are Messrs. Nalaczi and Daczo so familiar with you? Do they want anything?”
“They are my faithful followers, who have stood by my side from the very first.”
“But pray don’t on that account make them the highest personages in the land. Simple, ignorant men in responsible positions are far more dangerous to a state than open but enlightened foes. Reward them by all means, but only in proportion to their abilities.”
“I’ll do so,” replied the harassed Prince; and during the remainder of the interview he tried hard to uphold his conjugal supremacy, but Anna would not let the subject drop.
“And Master John Szasy, what does he do here? for I saw him too.”
“The poor fellow is persecuted,” returned Apafi, who began to find the joke a little tiresome.
“Evil rumours are abroad about that man. People say of him—and they say it pretty loudly—that he has young Saxon girls abducted for him, and after sacrificing them to his brutal lusts, removes them out of the way by poison. The parents of the girls have indicted this man, and he fancies he will escape exposure by fawning upon you.”
Apafi sprang wrathfully from his seat.
“If that be so, I will show Master Szasy the door; he shall find no shelter beneath my mantle.”
“And what brought that honest, tattered Szekler hither?” asked Anna, who had evidently made up her mind to know everything. “I like not his crafty face at all. The Szekler is always most dangerous when he puts on the garb of simplicity.”
The Prince was suddenly seized with a paroxysm of mirth, he could scarcely speak for laughing.
“That was the representative of Olahfalva,” said he.
At the mention of this place even Anna could not forbear from smiling.
“The good folks of Olahfalva,” continued Apafi, still laughing, “who carry people to church in sheets and beat watches to death!”
“I fear me the poor people are very much maligned. They are called simple, but methinks their ways are altogether crooked and crafty.”
“But is it not true then that they carry ladders horizontally through the woods?”
“Yes; but why? You shall hear. Their Captain-General had forbidden them to waste the woods, but at the same time sent them out to pull down crows’
