"Pray what has happened here?" inquired the astonished master of the house.
"Only that I am taking possession of my own property," was the insolent answer.
"Your property, why it's mine, considering I paid the price for it in due form," retorted the puzzled Ráby.
"But I repent of having sold it, and I've taken possession again," rejoined the notary, as he re-lit his pipe. "And now since you, my fine gentleman, have nothing further to look for in this town, and are no longer the master here, you may just pack off and go!"
"But I paid you ready-money," remonstrated Ráby, his voice fairly shaking with rage and shame.
"You'd better bring it before the tribunal," sneered the notary, and he laughed so immoderately that the pipe dropped out of his mouth.
Ráby heard the laughter echoed in the yard without by a dozen other voices.
He strove no longer. He told Böske he would send a coach to fetch her and the furniture away, and till then, she must wait there. Then he hurried off to his uncle's and told his story.
"This is beyond a joke," said the old man. "We will not stand this sort of thing from these insolent wretches."
"But to whom can I complain?" asked Ráby. "To the judge, Petray, who is my personal enemy; to the county court where I am accused of bigamy and scoffed at?"