"Does it hurt very much?"
"Yes, very much!"
"Shall I send for a doctor?"
"No."
In the evening he sent for his lawyer, János Sztolarik. He was quite lively when he came, made him sit down, and sent for another bottle of Tokay.
"The February vintage, Anna," he called after her.
The wine had been left him by his father, and dated from the year when there had been two vintages in Tokay in twelve months, one in February, and one in October. Only kings can drink the like of it. On account of the mildness of the winter the vines had been left uncovered, had flowered and borne fruit, so that in February they were able to have a vintage, and you can imagine what a flavor those grapes had. There was never anything like it before nor after. Old Gregorics's father used to call it the "Life-giver," and often said:
"If a man intending to commit suicide were to drink a thimbleful of it beforehand, he would, if unmarried, go and look up a 'best man,' or, if married, would go and sue for a divorce; but kill himself he would not."
The two friends drank to each other's health, and Gregorics smacked his lips.
"It's devilish good," he said.