Tihamer Csorbai had a horror of Father Peter. He could not find his faith again. Every dream misled him: and there were dreams that his waking moments carried on,—fabulous treasures, for which the waking man had only to stretch out his hand to hold what he had seen in the dreams of sleep.
During these few days, Idalia was not recognizable. For days at a time, she would not leave her sitting-room, but worked there with her maids like a simple peasant girl who prepares her trousseau. She stayed at the banquet only long enough to eat and drink, and then vanish. This great tumult was only to defy the world. She herself played the coy maiden, who waits for her wooer, and whispers to her mother, "There is a suitor in the house." If by chance she met Father Peter, she drew back before him.
Sunday morning, the company scattered to the four winds. "Six days shalt thou eat and drink, but the seventh is holy—" so it stands written. When the bells for early mass rang, Idalia dressed herself for church, and took her jewelled prayer-book in her hand. But first she summoned Father Peter.
"I am going to church. Perhaps for the last time to the Roman church. Do not come to-day; leave me alone. Meantime, take care of my only treasure." And then she covered Cupid's cheek with kisses, and went to church.
"Do you see how fond my mother is of me?" said Cupid, throwing his arms about Father Peter's neck. "Since we have come back she is so fond of me. That's because you're fond of her, I know, for she whispered it in my ear. You're not Father Peter, but Tihamer. Nights, she says this name over and over, and then she hugs and kisses me. Once I asked her who Tihamer was; at that she turned red, and laughing loudly, covered my mouth; then she took me up on her lap and kissed me. 'Wouldn't it be fine if you had to say Papa-Tihamer?' That means you. I know; you need not try to make believe to me,—you're no monk; I knew that when you threw the ball at the Fool's head. Do you know what my mother and her four maids are working at in her quarters? Come, I'll show you, there's nobody there. They're all gone to church." And the child dragged Father Peter into his mother's innermost room, where he had never been before. It was a marvel of convenience and elegance. Cupid ran to a richly carved wardrobe, which he opened. In it hung a rich travelling cloak trimmed with rosettes, and large buttons, lace, and gold embroidery.
"That's what they've been sewing and embroidering. And do you know who is to have this for a present? Why, it's for Tihamer, and nobody else. They told me not to tell anybody, but I'll just tell you. To-day is Sunday and to-night, when you go to bed, you'll find on your bed these clothes, and riding boots, and a gold sword. Yes, you can try them all on and see if they fit."
Father Peter looked around him. He thought he caught sight of the tempting countenance of a grinning demon behind him, and this urged him a step farther.
"Yes, and I know something more," Cupid went on. "From to-day on, every night down in the summer house, there'll be two horses saddled, and the key is left in the rear gate. I heard her arrange it all with the gate-keeper. For you know the monks down there keep watch over our gate day and night, so that if Father Peter should once try to escape from here, they could pursue him and catch him and throw him down into a deep dungeon, because he tried to run away. But if you two slip out through the garden gate some night, on those good horses, with me tucked under the cloak of one of you, then the monks may follow, but they will never overtake us."
Cupid's shafts all went home. All these preparations fitted so well into the framework of those dreams which the monk pursued day and night, when they did not pursue him. The entire plan of flight was completed; all one had to do was to adopt it. All obstacles were removed. The monk who flees with a woman may be arrested in any village, bound and brought back; but when a distinguished couple, on richly caparisoned horses, dash along, who would stop them?
"But you're not going to leave me, I'll tell you that beforehand," Cupid ran on. "There's a little fox-skin ready for me too, and little boots bordered with rabbit; don't be afraid, Mamma won't leave me behind. She takes me up on her lap now, just as she used to when I was a little boy, and as we are in the picture. Would you like to see the picture? I'll show it to you. It isn't everybody can see it at any time. It's shut up, but I know just how to press the springs, so it will open." He was then in front of the carved work which divided as he pressed a spring. When the picture came in sight, it lighted up the whole room, it was of such radiant beauty. It was an Italian masterpiece—Venus and Cupid, the veritable goddess of the myth, with the magic charms of beauty, in the act of bathing her child; her eyes were turned toward the spectator, languishingly, roguishly, seductively; a companion piece to the Venus of Correggio. The monk held his hands before his eyes,—he was dazzled.