Her words were followed by a sound as of thunder and a whizzing of darts. Madame Vizaknai's body came between Banfy and danger. When the noise of the firing passed over he felt her hold on his arm grow weaker;—an arrow had struck the lady just above the heart.
"The arrow was meant for you," said Madame Vizaknai, with feeble voice, and sank down dead on the ground.
"Poor soul!" said Banfy, looking down at her. "She always loved me and never showed it."
And then blood flowed instead of tears.
The Hungarians were surrounded by the Turks and could not force their way through at any point. Already Banfy was fighting with the eighth spahi who, like all the rest, gave way before his extraordinary dexterity. Ali Pasha was beside himself with rage.
"So then, you cannot kill this detestable dog," he roared, in his anger, and striking the people before him with the flat of his sword, he galloped toward Banfy.
"I stand before you, you miserable hog, son of a dog," he said, gnashing his teeth.
"Keep your names for yourself," said Banfy; rode up to the Pasha, and let fall on his helmet so mighty a blow that it was shivered, and Banfy's sword too, and both men drew back stunned. Ali took a round shield from one of his armor-bearers and a steel tschakany was handed Banfy. The tschakany fell with frightful force on the shield, making a hole. Ali Pasha drew his sword and this time Banfy saved his life only by a skilful spring to one side.
"I'll play ball with your head," said Ali, scornfully.
"And I will make a broom out of your beard," replied Banfy.