He saw his triumph, and glanced at us, but particularly at Stephen, with an insolent patronage for which I could have kicked him.
"Oh no," he said loftily, in answer to a remark from a companion; "I take no merit for it. The opportunity offered, and I accepted--nothing more. Of course our young friend has his fixed duties, otherwise we might have seen him at the breach."
The words were simple and harmless, but the sneer was so open that it could not be mistaken, and my brother's face flushed crimson. "And so you shall," he cried hotly. "I cannot claim so high an honour as Count Beula, but I can and will enter the fortress as soon as he."
The count smiled, drained his glass, rose to go, and then, looking round at the company, said pleasantly, "A challenge before so many witnesses must be accepted; but"--maliciously--"perhaps before Görgei's guns have made the breach our young friend will have had time to repent his hasty words."
Then he and his friends went out, and left us looking at one another gloomily.
"What's the matter, George?" my brother asked gaily. "One would think I had been condemned to death."
"Not at all," I answered, shaking off my gloom. "I was only thinking how we were deceived in that fellow. Fancy Beula at the head of a body of stormers!"
"It will be a night attack, so perhaps he'll lose his way in the dark," my brother answered, and later on the words acquired a strange significance.
"How you youngsters chatter!" exclaimed Rakoczy cheerfully. "The place hasn't been summoned yet, and Hentzi may surrender."
This, of course, was possible, though not probable, and the very next day the idea had to be put aside altogether.