Leonin started. "Oh, to Hungary!"
"My mother calls me," explained the other, with the simple brevity of one overcome with grief.
"When do you start?"
"Immediately."
Leonin shook his head incredulously. "That is simply madness," he declared. "Do you wish to freeze to death? Here in the city it is twenty degrees below zero, and out in the open country it is at least twenty-five. Between Smolensk and Moscow the roads are impassable, so much snow has fallen. In Russia no one travels in winter except mail-carriers and tradesmen."
"Nevertheless I shall start at once," was the calm rejoinder.
"Surely your mother wouldn't have you attempt the impossible. Where you live they have no conception what it means to travel in midwinter from St. Petersburg to the Carpathians. Wait at least till the roads are open."
"No, Leonin," returned Ödön, sadly; "every hour that I waited would be a reproach to my conscience. You don't understand how I feel."
"Well, then," replied the other, "let us go to your rooms."
Reaching his quarters, Ödön first awakened his valet and bade him pack his master's trunk and pay whatever accounts were owing. Then, so great was the young man's haste, he proceeded to build a fire with his own hands rather than wait for his servant to do it. Meanwhile Leonin had thrown himself into an easy chair and was watching his friend's movements.