"You ask me, do you not, whether I have not some even more awful secret?"
Lorand tacitly answered in the affirmative.
Melanie drew the ring off her finger and held it up in her hand.
"It is true—but it is for me no longer a living secret. I am already dead to the person to whom this secret once bound me. When he asked my hand, I was still rich, my father was a man of powerful influence. Now I am poor, an orphan and alone. Such rings are usually forgotten."
At that moment the ring fell out of her hand and missing the bridge dropped into the water, disappearing among the leaves of the water-lilies.
"Shall I get it out?" inquired Lorand.
Melanie gazed at him, as if in reverie, and said:
"Leave it there...."
Lorand, beside himself with happiness, pressed to his lips the beautiful hand left in his possession, and showered hot kisses, first on the hand, then on its owner. From the blossoming trees flowers fluttered down upon their heads, and they returned with wreathed brows like bride and bridegroom.
Lorand spoke that day with Topándy, asking him whether a long time would be required to build the steward's house, which had so long been planned.