"What! Don't you know the story? Why, it is impossible. It is even printed in Slovak verse."
"What is printed?"
"Why, the story of the umbrella ... Wladin, you are very hot, your face is the color of a boiled lobster. Shall I give you my fan?"
"What about the umbrella?" queried Gyuri impatiently.
"It is really strange you have never heard anything about it. Well, the story runs, that when your fair neighbor was a little child, they once left her out on the veranda of the priest's house. Her brother, the priest of Glogova, was in the church praying. A storm came on, it poured in torrents, and the child would have been wet through and have got inflammation of the lungs, or something of the kind, if a miracle had not taken place. An old man appeared on the scene, no one knows from where; he seemed to have fallen from heaven, and he spread an umbrella over the child's head."
"My umbrella!" burst unconsciously from the lawyer.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing, nothing."
His blood coursed more quickly through his veins, his heart beat faster, he raised his head quickly, with the result that he also knocked his glass over.
"A christening, another christening!" called out every one.