"See, the queen of melancholy is just beside you, on the far side the murderer. The queen of jealousy and the queen of hearts are in the opposite corner. On the other side the old lady. Above your head a burning house. Beware of some great misfortune. Some one wishes to cause you great sorrow, but some one will defend you."
Lorand did not wish to embitter the poor girl by laughing in her face at her simplicity.
"Get up now, Czipra, enough of this play."
Czipra gathered the cards up sadly. But she did not accept Lorand's proffered hand, she rose alone.
"Well, what shall I do, when I don't understand anything else?"
"Come, play my favorite air for me on the czimbalom. It is such a long time since I heard it."
Czipra was accustomed to acquiesce: she immediately took her seat beside her instrument, and began to beat out upon it that lowland reverie, of which so many had wonderingly said that a poet's and an artist's soul had blended therein.
At the sound of music Topándy and Melanie came in from the adjoining rooms. Melanie stood behind Czipra; Topándy drew a chair beside her, and smoked furiously.
Czipra struck the responsive strings and meantime remarked that Lorand all the while fixed his eyes in happy rapture upon the place where she sat; though not upon her face, but beyond, above, upon the face of that girl standing behind her. Suddenly the czimbalom-sticks fell from her hand. She covered her face with her two hands and said panting:
"Ah—this pipe-smoke is killing me."