"One way is as good as another. When shall we settle this little affair?"
Tököly shrugged his shoulders. "To-morrow morning, if you like."
"Very well, we'll meet by the cross."
The two men had spoken so low that nobody in the whole company had noticed them, except Feriz Beg, who, although standing at the extreme end of the room with folded arms, had followed with his eagle eyes every play of feature, every motion of the lips of the whole group, including Dame Béldi and the girl, and who now, on observing the two men grasp each other's hands, and part from each other with significant looks, suddenly planted himself before them, and said simply: "Do you want to fight a duel because of Aranka?"
"What a question?" said the Prince evasively.
"It will not be a duel," said Feriz, "for there will be three of us there," and, with that, he turned away and departed.
"How foolish these solemn men are," said Tököly to himself, "they are always seeking sorrow for themselves. It would require only a single word to make them merry, and, in spite of all I do, they will go and spoil a joke. Why, such a duel as this—all three against each other, and each one against the other two—was unknown even to the famous Round Table and to the Courts of Love. It will be splendid."
At that moment the courier, who had brought the letters, forced his way right up to Tököly, and said that he had got two important despatches for him.
"All right, keep them for me, I'll read them to-morrow. I won't spoil the day with tiresome business."
And so he kept it up till late at night with the merriest of the topers. Only after midnight did he return to his room, and ordered the soldier who had brought the letters to wake him as soon as he saw the red dawn.