"Oh! come, come away!"
"We will go, Rudolf. And I shall never come back again. To-morrow a smooth wall will be here in the place of the door, and iron shutters will cover all the windows. I feel that I ought not to seek her here any more. Elsewhere, elsewhere I will seek her: we will dwell together in another room. Let us go, let us go!"
And smilingly, without a tear, like one who is preparing for his bridal day, he quitted the room, casting one more look around upon it from the threshold, and a dumb kiss into the darkness, as if he were taking leave for a last time of a beloved object visible only to himself.
"Let us come, let us come!"
In the large library the witnesses were awaiting them.
They were four—the local notary, a stoutish young man, with his back planted against the warm stove; the estate agent, benevolent Peter Varga, who had asked, as a favour, that he might wear black like the other family servants; the parish priest, and Mike Kis. That worthy youth had quitted the brilliant saloons whose hero he was, to comfort his old friend in the days of his
tribulation. The fiscal was there also, cutting quills for every one present, and sticking them into the inkstands, which were placed all round the round table in front of the witnesses.
When Squire John and Rudolf entered the room, every one present saluted them with the grave solemnity befitting the occasion.
The Squire beckoned to everybody to be seated—Rudolf on his right, Mike Kis on his left, the fiscal opposite to him, that they might the better hear what he was going to say.
At the furthest end of the table sat Mr. Varga, with all the candles piled in front of him. He knew why.