"Well, well, not you; but that my friend Ali Tschorbadschi, my own cousin, the treasurer, has fled to Hungary with his daughter and his property on board my ship the 'St. Barbara;' and this is the daughter, isn't she? The dear little thing!" And with that Herr Brazovics suddenly fell upon her, took her in his arms, and pressed two kisses on her pale face—two loud, wet, malodorous kisses, so that the girl was quite confused.
"You are a good fellow, Michael, to have brought her here so quickly. Have you given him a glass of wine? Go, Sophie—quick! A glass of wine!"
Frau Sophie pretended not to hear; but Herr Brazovics threw himself into an arm-chair, drew Timéa between his knees, and stroked her hair with his fat palms. "And where is my worthy friend, the governor of the treasury? Where is he?"
"He died on the journey," answered Timar in a low voice.
"What a fatality!" said Brazovics, trying to give an angular form to his round face, and taking his hand from the girl's head. "But no accident happened to him?"
A curious question. But Timar understood it.
"He intrusted his property to my care, to deliver it over to you with his daughter. You were to be her adopted father and the guardian of her property."
At these words Herr Brazovics grew sentimental again; he took Timéa's head between his two hands, and pressed it to his breast.
"As if she were my own child. I will regard her as my daughter;" and then again smack! smack! one kiss after another on brow and cheek of the poor victim. "And what is in this casket?"
"The gold I was to deliver to you."