Then he gave the lawyer a sealed packet.
"In that you will find my will," he said. "I sent for you in order to give it you."
He rubbed his hands and smiled.
"There will be some surprises in that."
"Why are you in such a hurry with it? There is plenty of time," said Sztolarik, taking the packet.
Gregorics smiled.
"I know more about that than you, Sztolarik. But take a drop more, and don't let us talk of death. And now I'll tell you how my father got this wine. Well, he was a very sly customer, and if he couldn't get a thing by fair means, he got it by foul, and I have inherited some of his slyness from him. But mine is not the genuine article; however, that does not matter. In Zemplin there lived a very, very rich man, a count, and an ass into the bargain; at least he was a good-hearted man, and liked to give pleasure to others, thus proving that he was an ass. My father used to buy his wine of him, and if they had struck a good bargain the count used to give him a glass of this nectar. Being an assiduous wine merchant, of course my father was always worrying him to sell him some of the wine, but the count would not hear of it, and said, 'The Emperor Ferdinand has not enough money to buy it!' Well, once when they were drinking a small glass of the 'Life-giver,' my father began sighing deeply: 'If my poor wife could only drink a thimbleful of this every day for two months, I am sure she would get quite well again.' Upon which the count's heart softened, and he called up his major-domo and said: 'Fill Mr. Gregorics's cask with the "Life-giver."' A few days later several visitors arrived at the castle, and the count ordered some of the wine to be brought. 'There is none left, sir,' said the butler. 'Why, what has become of it?' asked the count. 'Mr. Gregorics took it with him, there was not even enough to fill his cask!' It was true, for my father had ordered an enormous cask of Mr. Pivák (old Pivák is still alive and remembers the whole story), took the cask in a cart to Zemplin, and, after filling it with the wine, brought it home. Not bad, was it? Drink another glass before you go, Sztolarik."
When the lawyer had gone, Gregorics called his man-servant in.
"Go at once to the ironmonger's and buy a large caldron; then find me two masons and bring them here; but don't speak to a soul about it."
Now that was Matykó's weak point, but if he had not been told to hold his tongue he might have managed to do so later on, when the opportunity for speaking came.