Gyuri's room was at the other end of the house, which was built in the shape of an L. It used to be the schoolroom before the new school was built. (Widow Adamecz had learnt her A B C there.) The priest who had been there before Father János had divided the room into two parts by a nicely painted wooden partition, and of one half he had made a spare bedroom, of the other a storeroom.
Veronica was feeling as miserable as she could, and her one wish at that moment was to hear the two gentlemen's conversation, for everything depended on that. Some demon who had evidently never been to school, and had never learned that it was dishonorable to listen at doors or walls, whispered to her:
"Run quickly, Veronica, into the storeroom, and if you press your ear to the wall, you will be able to hear what they say."
Off went Veronica like a shot. It is incredible what an amount of honey a demon of that description can put into his words; he was capable of persuading this well-educated girl to take her place among the pickled cucumbers, basins of lard, and sacks of potatoes, in order to listen to a conversation which was not meant for her ears.
Not a sound was to be heard in the storeroom but the dripping of the fat from a side of bacon hanging from the rafters, and which the great heat there was causing it to melt. Some of it even fell on her pretty dress, but what did she care for that just then?
"So you have found out all about the umbrella," she heard Sztolarik say, "but have you seen it yet?"
"Why should I?" asked Gyuri. "I cannot touch its contents till after the wedding."
"Why not sooner?"
"Because, for various reasons, I do not wish the story of the umbrella known."
"For instance?"