Topándy was writing a letter on Lorand's writing-table: and when asked "to whom?" he said "To the priest."
Yet he was not wont to correspond with such.
Czipra thought this too was all on her account.
Why, she had not yet been christened.
What a mysterious house it was, the door of which was now to open before her!
Perhaps a whole palace, in the brilliant rooms of which the eye was blinded, as it looked down them?
Soon steps were heard again outside. Perhaps the clergyman was coming.
She was mistaken.
In the new-comer she recognized a figure she had seen long before—Mr. Buczkay, the lawyer.
Despite the customary roundness of that official's face, there were traces of pity on it, pity for the young girl, victim of so dreadful a crime.