The good lady then gave vent to her lamentations. "I am undone!" she exclaimed, "my son Sandor is lost for ever! One has been nearly stung to death by bees, and now the other is killed by a mad horse. Oh! why did we ever come here at all?—But it is all your fault, you old fool," she continued, turning to her husband; "why did you want to marry your son so young? Now he is gone for ever, and you may go after him yourself, with your ass of a coachman. And you, sir," she added, turning her wrath on Kalman, "how dared you let him mount your confounded horse? where is he now, I ask you?—where is my son Sandor?"
"And where is my horse?" exclaimed the poet, not less alarmed at the idea of Sandor's having carried off his horse, than the good lady at the horse's having carried off her son Sandor.
"Oh, heavens! how am I to go home without my son?" said Aunt Zsuzsi, bursting into tears.
"And how the tartar am I to get home without my horse?" said the sentimental poet, forgetting himself.
Not content with blaming her husband and Kalman, Aunt Zsuzsi included the whole family in her wrath: the girls because they had not taken Sandor with them, and Uncle Berkessy for having allowed him to drink so much wine, as otherwise he never would have dared to mount the horse; and finally, she broke out in invectives against the whole party for standing with their mouths open, instead of running to look for her lost son.
At last Menyhert's patience was exhausted: "What are you yammering about?" he exclaimed; "nobody made this fuss about me when I went to the elections at Raab, when several gentleman were shot there! Never fear! bad money is not so easily lost; depend upon it, he will come back again. They don't steal people in this country, and they won't begin with Sandor; and if the rascal does not return soon, we shall have him advertised."
These cruel words fell with indescribable bitterness on Aunt Zsuzsi's sensitive heart. That a father should speak thus of his lost son! She had no words to reply; but, rushing into the room where Peterke was lying eating cake, she threw herself on her only remaining son, and began sobbing bitterly, on which Peterke turned the cake out of his mouth and began roaring too.
Uncle Berkessy, much annoyed at the good lady's distress, sent messengers in every direction, on foot and on horseback, to search for the lost youth.
Meantime our readers may have no objection to follow too, and see what has become of him.
Having crossed the garden, the steed went full speed across the fields, and out into the highroad, where he continued in full gallop, Sandor having surrendered himself to his fate, wondering whether he should be carried off to Ukrania, as Mazeppa had been before him.