“We are holding a council,” replied Teleki grimly.
“A council?” repeated Anna, approaching nearer and nearer to the table.
“Yes; and we venture to ask your Highness by what right you intrude here, while we are deliberating over the most momentous affairs of state?” continued Teleki in a hard, dry tone.
“Deliberating over the most momentous affairs of state, eh?” repeated the lady, measuring Teleki with a searching look. Then with a loud, vibrating voice she exclaimed—“What mean these wine-cups then? You are holding a council of state when the head of the state is drunk, that you may sow discord and confusion.”
Teleki sprang from his seat and turned towards the Prince—
“May it please your Highness to dismiss us. We perceive that a domestic scene is about to begin.”
“Anna!” cried Apafi, scarlet with shame and wine, “leave the room this instant. We command it—and for a week to come do not presume to appear in our presence.”
“Be it so, Apafi. I have nothing more to say to you, for you are not yourself; but to you, Mr. Chief-Counsellor, to you who are always sober, I have a word to say. I raised you from the dust; I helped you into the place where now you stand; you requite me by thrusting yourself between me and the Prince’s heart, for I find you in my way every time I approach my husband. You have taken the sceptre out of the Prince’s hand, and have substituted for it the headsman’s sword; but let me tell you that if I cannot reach the Prince’s heart, I can, at least, step in the way of the sword, and as often as it descends, you will find me between the stroke and the victim!—And ye! Nalaczi and Szekely, ennobled lackeys as you are, who cannot explain to yourselves how you became great lords, reflect that the wheel of Fortune debases as often as it exalts, and that as you treat others today so may others treat you tomorrow. And I say to you all, ye noble cavaliers, who seek your courage in your cups, bethink you and tremble at the thought, that not wine but innocent blood is foaming in the beakers that you hold in your hands! Shame, shame upon you all! who give wine to the Prince in order to ask blood of him. And now your Highness may add a couple of weeks to my term of banishment.”
With these words, the Princess rapidly left the room. The lords were dumb, and dared not look at each other. But Teleki got up, closed the door, dipped his pen in the inkhorn, and said—
“And now we will go on where we left off.”
VIII
Death for a Kiss
Paul Beldi went straight from Fehervár to Bodola: all the way he was tortured by the thought which Teleki’s words had revived.
In itself, a kiss is a very harmless thing. But what if another knows of it or has perceived it? Then indeed it becomes the pole of our suspicion, round which the mind weaves a whole pandemonium of doubts and guesses. We begin to think what might have led up to it, and what it may lead to. And in this case another did know of it. The husband had reasoned with himself: a kiss of which nobody knows anything makes no rent in a wife’s virtue—and behold! it is in everyone’s mouth already. And perhaps they don’t stop there. Perhaps while he, fond fool! imagined his honour in safe keeping, the world with a loud Ha, ha! has long been dragging it through the mire, and his ear is the very last to catch the insulting laugh. And that his mortal foe, too, should be at the bottom of it!
Night had fallen. The horses were tired out. Beldi had nowhere given them rest, nowhere changed them for fresh ones. He wanted to get home as quickly as possible. He wanted to meet face to face the woman who had so disgraced him, heaven only knew how much! But why be content to see a woman weep or die, when there was a man on whom vengeance could be taken? A man who had ever been his foe, from the time when they had been pages together at Prince Gabriel Bethlen’s court, and had now fastened on the most sensitive spot in his heart and ruthlessly torn it.
“Turn back,” he cried to the coachman, “and go in the direction of Klausenburg.”
The old servant shook his head; turned into a side-path, and so completely lost himself in the darkness of the night, that he was forced to confess to his master that he really did not know where he was.
Beldi’s rage and impatience knew no bounds. Looking about him, he perceived a small light burning at no great distance, and sulkily bade his coachman drive in that direction.
It was into the courtyard of a lonely country-house that they rolled at last, and Beldi recognized in the master of the house, who appeared at the barking of the large watchdogs, old Adam Gyergyai, one of his dearest friends, who, when he saw Beldi, rushed into his arms, and was beside himself with joy.
“God be with you!” said the good old man, covering his guest with kisses. “I will not ask what piece of good fortune has brought you to me.”
“To tell the truth, I’ve lost my way. I was on the road to Klausenburg. I must get there tonight; but I’ll rest my horses here for an hour or two if you’ll let me.”
“What pressing business is this you have on hand?”
“I must deliver a message,” replied Beldi evasively.
“If that be all, why so much hurry? Write it down, and one of my mounted servants shall immediately take it to its destination while you remain here.”
“You are right,” said Beldi, after some reflection; “it will be better to send a letter,” and with
