"Now just wait! I fancy I can help you to find out. For two days past a letter has been lying here addressed to your wife. There—take it and read it." And he handed Ráby a sealed missive.
"I, how can I open a letter which is directed to my wife?" he asked anxiously.
"Yes, indeed, why not? Are not man and wife according to the Hungarian law one flesh? A letter addressed for the one can legally be opened by the other, and I would do it, if I incurred the galleys for it, my friend, if I were in your place. Just read it, and I will be the guarantee that I delivered it into your hands."
Ráby opened the note with trembling fingers.
It was in the handwriting of the judge, Petray, and though short, was quite intelligible.
"My darling Fruzsinka,
"From your own letter I see that you find it impossible to put up with your tyrant any longer. I thought as much long since. You do quite right in leaving him, and the sooner you get away from him the better; the man will come to no good. My house, as you know, will ever be a safe asylum for you. I await you with open arms.
"Your devoted friend,
"Petray."
Ráby's eyes were no longer glazed and staring as heretofore; they shot sparks now.