Azrael quickly caught Mariska’s hand and whispered in her ear:
“Remain here! Sit down with the child, and see that he does not make a noise.”
And with that, quitting her companion and pressing against the wall of the bastion, she slowly and noiselessly began creeping along behind the back of the Komparaji.
The sentinel remained standing there, as motionless as a statue, gazing at the Danube flying in front of him, when suddenly, like the panther leaping upon its prey, the odalisque leaped upon the Komparaji, and before he had time to call out, pushed him so violently that he plunged over into the abyss.
Then quickly seizing Mariska’s hand, the odalisque exclaimed:
“And now forward quickly!”
Like two spirits the forms of the women flitted across the bastions. In Azrael’s hand was the key of the castle garden; in a few moments they reached the subterranean staircase, and when Azrael had locked the door behind her she turned to Mariska and said:
“Now thou canst pray, for thou art saved.”
The report had already spread through the two towns that early at dawn someone would be executed, and here and there people whispered that it would be the Princess of Moldavia.
The population living outside the town were able to give full reins to their imagination, for the gates of the fortress, by Hassan Pasha’s command, were already locked fast at six o’clock in the evening, and after that time nobody was allowed to enter out or in except the sentinels outside, and these only by the Szombat gate.
The later grew the hour the more numerous became the crowd assembled in front of the gates thus unwontedly bolted and barred, consisting for the most part of people who lived inside the town of every rank, who thus waited patiently for the chance of reaching their houses again. Knocking at the gates was useless, the guards had been ordered to take no notice of such demonstrations.
The darker grew the night, the more numerous became the throng before the gate, and the more closely they pressed together the plainer it became to them all that they would have to sleep outside.
The largest concourse was in front of the Fejérvár gate, for that was the chief entrance.
It was already close upon midnight, when some dozen horsemen, in the uniforms of Spahis, arrived at the gate, forcing their way through the throng, led, apparently, by a handsome youth (it was too dark to distinguish very clearly), who thundered at the gate with the butt-end of his lance.
“You may bang away at it till morning,” said a cobbler of Buda, who was lying prone, chawing bacon at his ease, “they won’t let you in.”
“Then why are you all here?” cried the youth in the purest Hungarian.
“Because they locked us out at six o’clock in the evening, and would not let us in.”
“Why was that?”
“They say that at dawn of day someone in the fortress is to be executed.”
“Who is it?” said the youth, visibly affected.
“Why, the Princess of Moldavia, of course.”
“Oh, that cannot be in any case,” exclaimed the leader of the Spahis. “I have just come from the Sultan, and I have brought with me his firman, in which he summons her to Stambul; not a hair of her head is to be crumpled.”
“Then it will be just as well, sir, if you try to get into the fortress, for it may be you have come with the sermon after the festival is over, and that letter may remain in your pocket if once they cut off her head.”
The youth seemed for a moment to be reflecting, then, turning to those who stood around, he said:
“Through which gate do they admit the soldiers on guard?”
“Through the Szombat gate.”
The youth immediately turned his horse’s head, and beckoned to his comrades to follow him.
But at the first words he had uttered, a figure enwrapped in a mantle had emerged from a corner of the gate, and when he began to talk about the Princess and the firman, this figure, with great adroitness, had crept quite close to him, and when he turned round had swiftly followed him till, having made its way through the throng, it overtook him, and, placing its hand on the horseman’s knee, said in a low voice: “Tököly!”
“Hush!” hissed the horseman, with an involuntary start, and bending his head so that he might look into the face of his interlocutor, whereupon his wonder was mingled with terror, and throwing himself back in his saddle, he exclaimed: “Prince! can it be you?”
For Prince Ghyka stood before him.
“Could I be anywhere else when they want to kill my wife?” he said mournfully.
“Do not be cast down, there will be plenty of time till tomorrow morning. I have plenty of confidence in my good star. When I really wish for a thing I generally get it even if the Devil stand in the opposite camp against me, and never have I wished for anything so much as to save Mariska.”
The Prince, with tears in his eyes, pressed the hand of the youth, and did not take it at all amiss of him that he called his wife Mariska.
“Well, of course, you have brought the firman with you, and if you come with the suite of the Sultan—”
“Firman, my friend? I have not brought a bit of a firman with me, and those who are with me are my good kinsfolk in Turkish costumes, worthy Magyar chums everyone of them, who have agreed to help me through with whatsoever I take it into my head to set about; but I have got something about me which can make firmans and athnamés, and whatever else I may require, whether it be the key of a dungeon, or a
