A slight, but choice, repast was served to them; and Radonic took care that no fault could be found with the wine, for he feared that they might, in their soberer senses, change their mind and reverse their opinion.
The dinner had been cooked to perfection, the wine was of the best, the arguments Radonic had brought forward to clear himself were convincing—even the four that had been wavering the evening before were quite for him now. The majority of these men were married, and jealous of their honour; the others were going to marry, and were even more jealous than the married men. If Radonic could not be absolved entirely, still he could hardly be condemned.
Thus the day passed in much useless talking and discussing, and night came on. At sundown the guests began to pour in, and soon the house was crowded. A deputation was then sent to the Vranic family to beg them to come to the feast. The tailor at first demurred; but being pressed he yielded, and came with his brother.
The evening began with the Karva-Kolo, or the blood-dance. It is very like the usual Kolo, only the music, especially in the beginning, is a kind of funeral march, or a dirge; soon the movement gets brisker, until it changes into the usual Kolo strain. The orchestra that evening was a choice one; it consisted of two guzlas, a dipla or bag-pipe, and a sfiraliza or Pan's seven-reeded flute. Later on there was even a triangle, which kept admirable time.
A couple of dancers began, another joined in, and so on, until the circle widened, and then all the people who were too lazy to dance had either to leave the room or stand close against the wall, so as not to be in the way. Just when the dance had reached its height, and the men were twirling the girls about as in the mazy evolutions of the cotillon, Radonic, who had kept aloof, burst into the room. A moment of confusion ensued, the dancers stopped, the middle of the room was cleared, the music played again a low dirge. The guilty man stood alone, abashed; around his neck, tied to a string, he wore the dagger with which he might have stabbed Vranic had he not throttled him.
As soon as he appeared two of the twenty-four arbitrators, who had been on the look-out for him, rushed and seized him. Then, feigning a great wrath, they dragged him towards Vranic, as if they had just captured him and brought him to be tried.
"Drag that murderer away, cast him out of the house; or, rather, leave him to me. Let me kill him."
"Forgive me," exclaimed Radonic.
"Down upon him!" cried Vranic.
The arbitrators thereupon made the culprit bow down so low that his head nearly touched the floor; then all the assembly uttered a deep sigh, or rather, a wail, craving—in the name of the Almighty and of good St. John—forgiveness for the guilty man.