"Why not?" I asked curiously.
"Ah!" exclaimed my comrade eagerly, "I thought you hadn't heard the news. Count Beula's in the camp."
"Well?"
"Comes from the Diet, or Kossuth--one and the same thing, I fancy--with a letter or proclamation, or whatever you call it. Expected to find Dembinski here, it appears."
"You make a first-class story-teller, Szondi, only you're in such a dreadful hurry to get to the end. Still, the narrative's wonderfully exciting, so far."
"Keep your chaff, old fellow. You'll find the finish exciting enough."
"There is an end then? That's something to be thankful for."
Szondi took no notice of the interruption, but continued steadily,--
"This Count Beula, then, arrived last night, expecting to find the Pole; but of course we knew nothing of Dembinski."
"Not likely."