Topándy had two carriages ready, his traveling coach and a wagon.
When the carriages drove up, Lorand put on his traveling cloak, lit his pipe and went down into the courtyard.
Czipra was arranging all matters in the carriages, the trunks were bound on tightly and the wine-case with its twenty-four bottles of choice wine, packed away in a sure place.
"You are a good girl after all, Czipra," said Lorand, tenderly patting the girl's back.
"After all?"
Was he really so devoted to that pipe that he could not take it from his mouth for one single moment?
Yet she had perhaps deserved a farewell kiss.
"Sit with my uncle in the coach, Pepi," said Lorand to the dandy, "with me you might risk your life. I might turn you over into the ditch somewhere and break your neck. And it would be a pity for such a promising youth."
Lorand sprang up onto the seat and took the reins in his hands.
"Well, adieu, Czipra!"—The coach went first, the wagon following.