"Lorand, my boy, there will be two funerals here."
"Who is the second dead person?" asked Daruszegi.
"I am."
Then he drew from his breast his left hand which he had hitherto held thrust in his coat.
"An hour ago I wrote a letter to your mother. As I was sealing it the hot wax dripped onto my nail, and see how my hand has blackened since."
The tips of his left hand were blue and swollen.
"The doctor, quickly," cried Daruszegi to his servant.
"Never mind. It is already unnecessary," said Topándy, falling languidly into an arm-chair. "In two hours it is over. I cannot live more than two hours. In twenty minutes this swelling will reach my shoulder, and the way from thence to the heart is short."
The doctor, who hastened to appear, confirmed Topándy's opinion.
"There is nothing to be done," he said.