"All right, foolish daddy," interrupted Sárvölgyi. "A truce to your blessings. Get you gone. Mistress Borcsa will give you a glass of wine as a reward."
But the gypsy would not yield: he hobbled after the master into his bedroom, opening the door vigorously, and thrusting in his shaggy head.
"But if God call from the world of shadows..."
"Go to hell: enough of your gratitude."
But the czimbalom-player merely closed the door from the inside and followed his righteous benefactor.
"Golden-winged angels in a wagon of diamonds...."
"Get out this moment!" cried Sárvölgyi, hastily looking for a stick to drive the flatterer out of his room.
But at that moment the gypsy sprang upon him like a panther, grasping his throat with one hand and placing a pointed knife against his chest with the other.
"Oh!"—panted the astonished Sárvölgyi. "Who are you? What do you want?"
"Who am I?" murmured the fiend in reply, looking like the panther when it has set its teeth in its victim's neck. "I am Kandur,[75] the mad Kandur. Have you ever seen a mad Kandur? That is what I am. Don't you know me now?"