The rod and the scourge were applied with no sparing hand, but neither the one nor the other could make her confess. The brave girl only closed her teeth the more tightly when the shameful blows struck her tender body, and after each stroke she whispered to herself: "Dear Richard!"—repeating the words until at last she fainted under the torture. When she recovered consciousness she found herself in bed, her body half covered with plasters. She was in a high fever, but was able to note the approach of nightfall. She had slept nearly all day.
"Now I will tell where I have been," said she to those around her bed. "I went to the camp of the hussars and passed the night in the room of my lover, their captain. Now you may publish it abroad if you choose."
At this fearful revelation the prioress threw up her hands in consternation. Naturally she took every precaution to keep the matter secret; for had it been allowed to leak out, the good name of that nunnery would have been ruined.
CHAPTER XV.
MOTHER AND SON.
Jenő had of late made his abode in the Plankenhorst house, having formally installed himself there in the room of the footman, who had gone to join the insurgents at the barricades. Thus the young man was able to be in the house day and night. Extraordinary events produce extraordinary situations. The young man's cup of happiness held but one drop of bitterness,—anxious uncertainty what the morrow might bring forth. Would the cause of the insurgents prevail, or would they be defeated? And what would be his fate and that of the Plankenhorsts, in the latter case?
The assault had come to an end on the evening of the third day. The insurgents had in great part laid down their arms, only a few detached companies still maintaining the unequal contest in the outlying districts. The victorious army was already advancing into the city along its principal streets. In the Plankenhorst parlours there were but three persons, the two ladies and Jenő. Those who had of late been such constant frequenters of that drawing-room were now fallen or scattered. As the military band at the head of the conquering forces passed the house, Jenő heard heavy steps ascending the stairs. The victors were coming; they had singled out that particular house, and there was no escape. The young man nerved himself to meet any issue—except the one actually before him.
The old family friends and acquaintances, the pre-revolutionary frequenters of the Plankenhorst parties, came pouring into the room, smiling with triumph, and all meeting with a hearty welcome from the ladies, who seemed to take the whole affair as a matter of course, and to be affected by the sudden change of atmosphere no more than if the past eight months, with their stirring scenes and epoch-making events, had been but a dream.
No one paid any heed to Jenő or seemed in the smallest degree conscious of his presence, until one guest entered who was polite enough to give him a word of greeting. It was Rideghváry. Making his entrance with no little pomp and ostentation, he congratulated the ladies with much effusion and shook a hand of each in both his own. Leaving them upon the entrance of a new guest, he sought out Jenő, who was sitting in one of the windows, a passive spectator of the scene before him.
"Your humble servant, my young friend," was the elder's condescending salutation. "Glad to find you here, for I have matters of importance to discuss with you which may have great influence on your future. Pray be good enough to go home and await my coming."