When Lorand opened the door and stood face to face with him, an entirely new surprise awaited him.
The young cavalier who had thus hastened to find him was not his brother Desi, but—Pepi Gyáli.
Pepi was no taller, no more manly-looking than he had been ten years before; he had still that childish face, those tiny features, the same refined movements. He was still as strict an adherent to fashion: and if time had wrought a change in him, it was only to be seen in a certain, distinguished bearing,—that of those who often have the opportunity of playing the protector toward their former friends.
"Good day, dear Lorand," he said in a gay tone, anticipating Lorand. "Do you still recognize me?"
("Ah," thought Lorand: "you are here as the finger-post of death.")
"I did not want to avoid you: as soon as I knew from the Bálnokházys that you were here, I came to find you."
After all it was "she" that had put him on Lorand's track!
"I have business here with Sárvölgyi in Madame Bálnokházy's interest—a legal agreement."
Lorand's only thought, while Gyáli was uttering these words, was—how to behave himself in the presence of this man.
"I hope," said the visitor tenderly extending his hand to Lorand, "that that old wrangle which happened ten years ago has long been forgotten by you—as it has by me."