She busied herself with drawing the corks of a number of bottles, which she then transferred from the end of the room where she stood to the tables at which sat her customers; she also brought out some fresh glasses. Béla watched her for a moment or two in silence, unconscious of the fact that he, too, was being watched by a pair of pale eyes in which lurked a gleam of jealousy and of hate. Suddenly, as Klara brushed past him carrying bottles and glasses, he took hold of her by the elbow and drew her close to him.
"These louts won't stay late to-night, will they?" he whispered in her ear.
"No, not late," she replied; "they will go on to the barn in time for the supper, you may be sure of that. Why do you ask?"
"I will have the supper served at ten o'clock," he continued to whisper, "but I'll not sit down to it. Not without you."
"Don't be foolish, Béla," she retorted. But even as he spoke, a little gleam of satisfaction, of gratified vanity, of anticipatory revenge, shot through her velvety dark eyes.
"I warned Elsa," he continued sullenly; "I told her that if you were not at the feast, I should not be there either. She has disobeyed me. I must punish her."
"So?" she rejoined, with an acid smile. "It is only in order to punish Elsa that you want to sup with me?"
"Don't be stupid, Klara," he retorted. "I'll come at ten o'clock. Will you have some supper ready for me then? I have two or three bottles of French champagne over at my house—I'll bring them along. Will you be ready for me?"
"Be silent, Béla," she broke in hurriedly. "Can't you see that that fool Leo is watching us all the time?"
"Curse, him! What have I got to do with him?" muttered Béla savagely. "You will be ready for me, Klara?"