Not one of the dead, though her robe is white: one far worse than they:—a beautiful woman.
It was Hermine who opened the door and entered Lorand's room so silently, with inaudible steps. Her ball-robe was on her: she had dressed for the dance in her room above, and thus dressed had descended.
"Are you ready now, Lorand?"
"Oh, good evening: pardon me. I will light a candle in a moment."
"Never mind about that," whispered the woman. "It is quite light enough as it is. To-day no candle may burn in this room."
"You are going to a ball," said Lorand, masking the sorrow of his soul by a display of good spirits: "and you wish me to accompany you?"
"Fancy the thought of dancing coming into my head just now!" replied Hermine, coming so close to Lorand that she could whisper in his ear. "Did you get my letter?"
"Yes, thank you. Don't be alarmed, there is no danger."
"Indeed there is. I know it well. The danger is in the hands of Bálnokházy: therefore certain."
"What great harm can happen to me?"