"I too will be there," said Banfi.
The Prince, very much offended, withdrew to his cabinet. The Hungarian nobles, much excited, went out by the other door. Teleki remained behind. Banfi, adjusting his marten-skin cap, haughtily measured his opponent from head to foot, and exclaimed ironically as he went out—"I leave my reputation behind me!" Teleki returned his gaze with the most nonchalant sangfroid.
When every one had disappeared, Teleki whispered some words to a page, who went out and returned in a few moments with a florid, curly-headed young man. Methinks we have seen this youth somewhere or other before, though only for an instant which we cannot call to mind. A beggar's sack hangs down over his ragged clothing, his hand holds a knobby stick.
"So you permit me at last to approach the Prince?" said he, in a somewhat dictatorial tone.
"Sit down here by the door," replied the minister; "the Prince goes to dinner shortly, and will pass by this way. You can then speak to him."
The young man with the beggar's sack sat for a long time at the Prince's door, till Apafi came out of his room on his way to dinner. The beggar with the knapsack planted himself right in his Highness's way.
"Who are you?" asked the Prince, much surprised.
"I am that renowned warrior, Emerich Balassa, who once was one of the chief men of Hungary, and now stands before your Highness with the beggar's staff."
"You were involved, I understand, in that conspiracy against us?" said Apafi, disagreeably flurried.
"That I was not, your Highness. If you would deign to listen to my tale, then——"