The three Bohemians hung their fiddles on the wall, sat up and began the feast—How good it tasted! If it only did not have such a scent of the dead about it! It must have been very late. The candles were all but burned down, and the pale wind of dawn made them flutter and tremble like ghosts. The noblemen and women were still talking and laughing in the glowing marble rooms.
One little man of smoothly shaven face, who wore glasses, took out his snuff box, and circled the resplendent room, offering a pinch to everyone, and saying in the most sympathetic voice: “How do you feel tonight?”
“Good, Doctor! Most excellently, Doctor!”
The little man with the glasses rubbed his hands:
“We have you to thank that we are here—” and then he began to beat his breast.
It was all so enchanting to look upon, so merry—Zahrada could not look enough to satisfy himself—at the slender little lady. He poked Safranyik in the ribs with his elbow: “Which one of all these would you choose?”
Safranyik pointed to a mischievous, laughing brunette who stood beside a mirror. The teasing beauty understood the lustful glances of Safranyik, perhaps she heard what he said, and she twinkled her eyes at him, so that he trembled just as if he had the fever. Bold Zajczek had a still more remarkable experience with one of the peasant girls. He tried to pinch her, but something hurt him so that he shrieked and began to drink to calm himself. Zahrada drank, too. But Safranyik drank more than anyone else, and all the time he held on tightly to the golden, jeweled fan that belonged to the little old lady. (The old lady might, of course, ask for it at any time!) The fiddlers three at length began to be sleepy—Now dimly, as if only with one ear—did they listen to the wild revelry in the marble halls, and at length sleep fell upon them, and so heavily, that as far as they were concerned, the world could come to an end.
When at length they awoke and rubbed their eyes it was morning. The golden disk of the sun was just lifting itself above the bare summit of Mount Málnád.
They look about upon their surroundings. They were in the old forgotten graveyard of Crizsnócz, and the three fiddles were hanging upon the grave stones. Beside Safranyik’s head, lay a human skull, instead of the jeweled butterfly cap which the merry little gentlewoman had pulled over his head. Zahrada held in one hand the bone of an arm.
Terrified, their teeth chattering, they got to their feet and ran to the village, where they related their adventure of the night. In the relation, the village dwellers recognized their long buried ancestors. Even the descriptions of the clothes in which they had been buried were correct.