Notwithstanding my uncle's caution, however, there were times when I contrived to make little Esztike sensible of my feelings towards her. But there was one terrible fatality—that old Mrs. Debora, who never moved from home, but kept watch for ever, like a dragon over treasure; and wo to the unhappy youth who dared to visit Esztike—there were few who had courage to make a second trial.
Some said that this Mistress Debora was a sister of the old man; others, that she was his wife. Indeed she might have been his grandmother, for she looked older than the Visegradi tower.[52]
[52] An ancient fortress on the Danube.
It was six whole years since I had shaken the school dust from my boots, and still the gates of paradise were barred against me.
One evening, when the old gentleman had gone out, I could no longer control my impatience; and leaping over the garden wall, I slipped to the back of the house, where I could at least see the windows of the room in which Esztike sat; and there I stood, with a beating heart, and eyes fixed on the shadow of a hand which I distinctly saw through the muslin curtains, moving up and down at some needle-work, while I actually devoured it with my eyes.
Suddenly the hand advanced and knocked violently at the window; it was impossible not to see that it was intended for me, and, while I was hesitating whether to fly towards it or from it, the window burst open, and I thought the Egyptian seven years of leanness had thrust its head out—it was Mistress Debora!
"What do you want there, you good-for-nothing, long-legged horihorgas,[53] staring like a calf at a new gate, eh? Get along about your business, or I will set the dogs after you; if you have nothing better to do, go and seek for grass to make your wisdom-teeth grow;" and with this compliment she closed the window violently.
[53] "Horihorgas," hobbledehoy.
It was several minutes ere I could collect my scattered senses. At last, I drew my cap over my eyes, and went home with a heavy heart. I lay gazing all night at the starry heavens; the very thought of sleep was banished from my senses. How could it be otherwise? as often as I tried to think of my little Esztike's beautiful face, the hideous vision of old Mistress Debora rose before me; and to increase my ill humour, all the cats in the neighbourhood seemed to have collected to squall and trill under my window. I contented myself for some time with patiently anathematizing them; but perceiving at last that they were rehearsing operas from end to end, I jumped up, and, seizing a rolling-pin—the first implement which came to my hand, I dashed it amongst the choristers. It was certainly a theatrical stroke, and from that night forward I never had cause to repeat it.
Next morning, however, the black soup[54] awaited me. My father entered the room, with his fox-headed mantle over one shoulder and his lambskin cap drawn over his brow.