"His wife?" exclaimed the stranger in surprise.
"Yes, that pale girl who fell to him by lot."
"And she is his wife?"
"He told us so himself, and swore that if any of us dared so much as lift his eye upon her, he would send him to St. Nicholas in paradise."
"Can I not see her?"
"I would not advise you; for if the Decurio hears of it, he will make two halves of you; but you may go round to the window if you like—only let me get out of the way first, that the Decurio may not find me here."
The stranger hastened to the window, and, looking in, he saw the young girl seated on an arm-chair made of rough birch boughs, with a little prayer-book on her knee; her fair arm supporting her head, while a mass of golden ringlets half veiled her face, which was pale as an alabaster statue; the extreme sadness of its expression rendering her beauty still more touching.
"Jolanka!" exclaimed the stranger passionately.
She started at the well-known voice, and, uttering a cry of joy, rushed to the window.
"Oh, Imre!" she murmured, "are you come at last!"