"Kisses allowed," called out Klempa.
A branch of lilac was just outside the window, and spread its delicious perfume through the room, decidedly more pleasant than the fumes of tobacco smoke which had filled it a minute before.
Madame Krisbay, startled by the sudden darkness, gave vent to a little scream, and Klempa seized the opportunity to exclaim:
"I assure you it was not I!"
There was a general confusion in the darkness, but Mrs. Szliminszky, wanting to prove she was above being troubled by such trifles, quietly continued her conversation with Gyuri.
"It is a pretty little legend, Mr. Wibra. I am not easily imposed upon, and, besides, we are Lutherans; but I must say it is a very pretty legend. But the umbrella is really wonderful. Sick people are cured if they stand under it; a dead man rose to life again when it touched him. It is of no use your shaking your head, for it is true. I know the man himself, he is still alive. Altogether the things that umbrella has done are wonderful, especially the fact that it has brought luck and riches to the priest of Glogova."
A dark suspicion took possession of Gyuri, and when the candles were relighted, it was to be seen he was as pale as death.
"Is the priest rich?" he asked.
"Very rich," answered Mrs. Szliminszky.
He drew nearer to her, and suddenly seized hold of her hand, pressing it convulsively. The good lady could not make out why. (If he had done so a minute sooner, she could have understood it, but the candles were alight now!)