The narrow hatchet-face once more disappeared behind the door. Klara's voice was heard to ask:
"Who is in the tap-room, father?"
"Andor and Béla," replied the old man, "but never you mind about the tap-room. Just see that you don't forget my red handkerchief, and my fur cap for the journey, and my bottle of . . ."
His mumblings became inaudible, and after awhile Béla reiterated, with an airy laugh:
"No, my friend! Elsa is not for you."
Then it was that Andor's confused thoughts shaped themselves into a resolve.
"Not unless you will give her up, Béla," he said slowly: "you yourself, I mean—now—at this eleventh hour."
"I?" queried the other harshly—not understanding. "Give her up?"
"Yes. Tell her that you have thought the whole matter over; that you have realized that nothing but unhappiness can come from your union together. She would feel a little humiliated at first, perhaps, but she would come to me, if you would let her go. I can deal with Irma néni after that. If you will release Elsa yourself of her promise she would come to me, I know."
Béla looked for awhile in silence at the earnest face of the other man, then he burst into a loud, mocking laugh.