A hussar officer rode up to the widow's house. He was a handsome, slender youth, whose raven hair and moustache formed a striking contrast to the olive paleness of his complexion. He wore a double gold cord on his crimson csako, and his breast was already decorated. As he entered the house his dark eye flashed with pleasure, and all his efforts to be serious could ill restrain a smile.
That smile betrayed him!
"Gejza!" exclaimed the widow and her daughters together; and then there was a rush, and a mutual embrace—the first affectionate, the next playful, and the last long and warm.
"I knew you would come," whispered Ilka, as he pressed her again and again to his heart. "How long will you stay with us?"
"As long as we remain in Szolnok."
"And how long will that be?"
"Perhaps an hour."
"Only one hour! And when will you return?"
"Perhaps soon, perhaps—never."
Ilka clung weeping to her lover's neck, who drew her still closer to his heart.