"You do not understand me, mother; nor is it my will that you should."
"What!" cried the mother, joyfully; "you are not planning to do as I suspected?"
"That question I must refuse to answer."
"One word more," interrupted Ödön; "if you would relieve our anxiety, show us the letter you have received."
Jenő put his hand to his breast, as if fearful lest some one might try to take the letter from him by force. "That letter you shall not see," he declared.
"I am determined to read it," returned the other.
At this Jenő's face flushed hotly. "Ödön Baradlay," he exclaimed, "the letter is addressed to Eugen Baradlay. I am Eugen Baradlay." So saying, he turned proudly away.
"Then our mother was right, after all," said his brother bitterly.
The baroness rose to her feet. Tears coursed down her cheeks. "Go, then," she cried, "whither your obstinate will leads you. Leave us here in despair and in tears. But know that, though two of my sons are likely to die on the scaffold, I shall not mourn those that are taken, but the one that is left."
At these hard words Jenő looked with a gentle smile at the speaker. "Mother," said he, "remember that my last words to you were, 'I love you.' Farewell!" And he was gone.