He returned into the rocky chamber, rekindled the lunt, came out, and closing the iron door behind him made his way along the banks of the cold Szamos.
Towards midday he sat down on the bank to rest, and he had scarcely been there a quarter of an hour, when he heard the trampling of horses, and looking up—the bushes completely concealed him—beheld Ladislaus Csaky and Azrael on horseback, side by side, at the head of an armed band. The girl seemed to be pointing out something to Csaky on the rocks above, and the worthy gentleman was beside himself for joy.
Banfi smiled scornfully.
"Poor Tartars!"
As soon as the band had passed by, Banfi continued his journey. He had not gone far when he came upon a poor peasant cleaving wood.
"Dost know whither that armed band has gone?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. They have gone to capture Denis Banfi, on whose head a great price has been set."
"How much?"
"If a noble capture him he will receive an estate, if a peasant, two hundred ducats."
"Little enough, but enough for you, I dare say. I am Denis Banfi."