CHAPTER XIV.

THE GUARDIAN.

At six in the evening the ship's crew had left the sunken craft, and by

half past seven Timar with Timea was in Komorn. The post-cart driver

knew Brazovics' house very well, and galloped his four bell-decked

horses with unmerciful cracks of the whip through the little streets up

to the square, as he had been promised a good _trinkgeld_ if he brought

his passengers quickly to their destination.

Michael lifted Timea from the country wagon and told her she was now at

home. Then he took the casket under his cloak and led the girl up the

steps.

The house of Athanas Brazovics was of two stories--a rarity in Komorn;

for in remembrance of the destructive earthquakes by which the town had

been visited in the last century, people usually only built on the

ground-floor. The lower story was occupied by a large cafe, which served

the resident tradespeople as a casino; the whole upper floor was

inhabited by the family of the merchant. It had two entrances from the

street, and a third through the kitchen.

The owner was generally not at home at this hour, as Timar knew; he

therefore led Timea straight to the door through which the women's rooms

were reached. In these reigned fashionable luxury, and in the anteroom

lounged a man-servant. Timar asked him to fetch his master from the

cafe, and meanwhile led Timea to the ladies.

He was certainly hardly got up for company, as may be imagined when one

remembers what he had gone through, and the number of times he had been

soaked; but he was one of those who belonged to the house, who could

come in at any time and in any dress: they looked upon him as "one of

our people." In such a case one gets over the strict rules of etiquette.

The announcement revives the old habit of the mistress, as soon as the

door of the anteroom is open, of putting her head through the parlor

door to see who is coming. Frau Sophie has kept this habit ever since

her maid-servant days. (Pardon, that slipped out by accident.) Well,

yes, Herr Athanas raised her from a low station; it was a love-match, so

no one has a right to reproach her.

It is therefore not as idle gossip, but only as a characteristic touch,

that I mention that Frau Sophie even as "gracious lady" could not get

rid of her early habit. Her clothes always fitted her as if they had

been given to her by her mistress. From her coiffure an obstinate lock

of hair would always stick out either in the front or at the back; even

her most gorgeous costumes always looked tumbled and creased; and if

nothing else went wrong, there would be invariably a pair of

trodden-down shoes with which she could indulge in her old propensity.

Curiosity and tattle were the ingredients of her conversation, in which

she generally introduced such extraordinary expressions that when she

began to scatter them in a mixed party, the guests (that is, those who

were seated) almost fell off their chairs with laughter. Then, too, she

had the agreeable custom of never speaking low; her voice was a

continuous scream, as if she were being stabbed and wished to call for

assistance.

"Oh, good Lord, it's Michael!" she cried, as soon as she got her head

through the door-way. "And where did you get the pretty fraulein? What

is the casket you have under your arm? Come into the parlor! Look, look,

Athalie, what Timar has brought!"

Michael let Timea pass, then he entered and politely wished the company

good-evening. Timea looked round with the shyness of a first meeting.

Besides the mistress of the house there were a girl and a man in the

room. The girl was a fully developed and conscious beauty, who, in spite

of her naturally small waist, did not disdain tight stays; her high

heels and piles of hair made her appear taller than she was; she wore

mittens, and her nails were long and pointed. Her expression was of

artificial amiability; she had somewhat arrogant and pouting lips, a

rosy complexion, and two rows of dazzling white teeth, which she did not

mind showing; when she laughed, dimples formed on chin and cheek, dark

brows arched over the bright black eyes, whose brilliancy was increased

by their aggressive prominence. With her head up and bust thrown

forward, the beautiful creature knew how to make an imposing appearance.

This was Fraulein Athalie.

The man was a young officer, verging on thirty, with a cheerful open

face and fiery black eyes. According to the military regulations of the

period, he had a clean-shaven face, with the exception of a small

crescent-shaped whisker. This warrior wore a violet tunic, with collar

and cuffs of pink velvet, the uniform of the engineers. Timar knew him

too. It was Herr Katschuka, first lieutenant at the fort, and also a

commissariat officer--rather a hybrid position, but so it was.

The lieutenant has the pleasure of taking a portrait of the young lady

before him in chalks; he has already finished one by daylight, and is

trying one by lamplight. The entrance of Timea disturbs him in this

artistic occupation.

The whole appearance of the slender delicate girl was something

spiritual at this moment--it was as if a ghost, a phantom, had stepped

out of the dusk.

When Herr Katschuka looked up from his easel, his dark-red chalk drew

such a streak across the portrait's brow, that it would be hard for

bread-crumbs to get it out, and he rose involuntarily from his seat

before Timea.

Every one rose at the sight of the girl, even Athalie. Who can she be?

Timar whispered to Timea in Greek, on which she hastened to Frau Sophie

and kissed her hand, while the girl herself received a kiss on her

cheek.

Again Timar whispered to her. The girl went with shy obedience to

Athalie, and looked steadily in her face. Shall she kiss her, or fall on

the neck of her new sister? Athalie seemed to raise her head higher

still. Timea bent to her hand and kissed it--or rather not her hand, but

the kid mitten. Athalie allowed it, her eyes cast a flaming glance on

Timea's face, and another on the officer, and she curled her lips yet

more.

Herr Katschuka was completely lost in admiration of Timea.

But neither his nor Athalie's fiery looks called up any emotion on

Timea's face, which remained as white as if she were a spirit.

Timar himself was not a little confused. How was he to introduce the

girl and relate how he had come by her, before this officer?

Herr Brazovics helped him out of his difficulty. With a great bustle he

burst in at the door. He had just now in the cafe--to the surprise of

all the regular customers--read aloud from the Augsburg _Gazette_ that

the escaped pasha and treasurer, Ali Tschorbadschi and his daughter, had

fled on board the "St. Barbara," evaded the watchfulness of the Turkish

authorities, and reached Hungary in safety. The "St. Barbara" is his

ship. Tschorbadschi is a good friend of his--even a connection by the

mother's side. An extraordinary event! One can fancy how Herr Athanas

threw his chair back when the servant brought him the news that Herr

Timar had just arrived with a beautiful young lady, and under his arm a

gilt casket.

"So it is actually true!" cried Herr Athanas, and rushed up to his own

apartments, not without upsetting a few of the card-players on his way.

Brazovics was a man of enormous corpulence. His stomach was always half

a step in front of him. His face was copper-colored at its palest, and

violet when he ought to have been rosy: even when he shaved in the

morning his chin was all bristles by the evening, his scrubby mustache

perfumed with smoke, snuff, and various spirits; his eyebrows formed a

bushy wall over his prominent and bloodshot eyes. (A fearful thought,

that the eyes of the lovely Athalie, when she grows old, will resemble

her father's!)

When Herr Brazovics opens his mouth, one understands why Frau Sophie

always screams; her husband, too, can only speak in shouts, but with the

difference that he has a deep bass voice like a hippopotamus.

Naturally Frau Sophie, when she wants to overpower his voice with her

own, raises it to a yell. It was as if they had a wager which could

bring on the other a lung disease or a stroke of apoplexy. It is

doubtful who will win; but Brazovics always stops his ears with wool,

and Frau Sophie invariably has a comforter round her throat.

Athanas rushed, panting with haste, into the ladies' room, where his

voice of thunder had already preceded him. "Is Michael there with the

young lady? Where is the fraulein? Where is Michael?"

Timar hastened to catch him at the door. He might have succeeded in

keeping back the man himself, but the weight of his approaching paunch,

when once set in motion, bore down all obstacles.

Michael made a sign to him that a visitor was present. "Ah, that doesn't

matter! You can speak openly before him. We are _en famille_; the Herr

Lieutenant belongs to the family. Ha! ha! don't get cross, Athalie;

every one knows it. You can speak freely, Michael; it is all in the

papers."

"What is in the papers?" exclaimed Athalie, angrily.

"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 Timea 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 Timea'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."

"Very good, Michael. How much is there?"

"A thousand ducats."

"What!" cried Brazovics, and pushed Timea off his knee; "only a thousand

ducats? Michael, you have stolen the rest!"

Something stirred in Timar's face. "Here is the autograph will of the

deceased. He declares therein that he has given over to me a thousand

ducats in gold, and his remaining property is contained in the cargo,

which consists of ten thousand measures of wheat."

"That's something more like. Ten thousand measures of wheat, at twelve

gulden fifty a measure in paper money, that makes a hundred and

twenty-five thousand gulden, or fifty thousand gulden silver. Come here,

little treasure, and sit on my knee; you're tired, aren't you? And did

my dear never-to-be-forgotten friend send me any other directions?"

"He told me to tell you that you must be present in person when the

sacks are emptied, lest they should exchange the grain, for he had

bought a very good quality."

"Naturally I shall be there in person. How should I not be? And where is

the ship with the grain?"

"Below Almas, at the bottom of the Danube."

But now Athanas thrust Timea right away, and sprung up in a rage. "What!

my fine vessel gone down, as well as the ten thousand measures of wheat!

Oh, you gallows-bird! you rascal! You were all drunk, for certain. I'll

put you all in jail; the pilot shall be in irons; and I shall not pay

one of you. You forfeit your ten thousand gulden caution-money: you

shall never see that again. Go and sue me if you like!"

"Your vessel was not worth more than six thousand gulden, and is insured

for its full value at the Komorn Marine Insurance Office. You have come

to no harm."

"If that were true a hundred times over, I should still require

compensation from you, on account of the _lucrum cessans_. Do you know

what that means? If you do, you can understand that your ten thousand

gulden will go to the last kreutzer."

"So be it," answered Timar, quietly. "We will speak of that another

time; there's time enough. But what we have to do now is to decide what

is to happen to the sunken cargo, for the longer it remains under water,

the more it will be spoiled."

"What does it matter to me what happens to it?"

"So you will not take it over? You will not be personally present at the

discharge of cargo?"

"The devil I will! What should I do with ten thousand measures of soaked

grain? I am not going to make starch of ten thousand measures of corn;

or shall I make paste of it? The devil may take it if he wants it!"

"Hardly; but the stuff must be sold. The millers, factors,

cattle-dealers, will offer something for it, and the peasants too, who

want seed-corn; and the vessel must be emptied. In that way some money

may be got out of it."

"Money!" (This word could always penetrate into the cotton-stuffed ears

of the merchant.) "Good. I will give you a permit to-morrow to empty the

vessel and get rid of the cargo in bulk."

"I want the permit to-day. Before morning everything will be ruined."

"To-day! You know I never touch a pen at night; it is against my

habits."

"I thought of that beforehand, and brought the permit with me. You have

only to sign your name to it. Here are pen and ink."

But now Frau Sophie interrupted with a scream. "Here in my parlor I do

not allow writing to be done! That's the only thing wanting--that my new

carpet should be all spotted with ink. Go to your room if you want to

write. And I won't have this squabbling with your people here in my

rooms!"

"I should like to know if it isn't my house," growled the great man.

"And it's my sitting-room!"

"I am master here!"

"And I am mistress here!"

The screeching and growling had the good result for Timar that Herr

Brazovics flew into a rage, and in order to show that he was master in

his own house, seized the pen and signed the power of attorney. But when

he had given it, both fell on Timar, and overwhelmed him with such a

flood of reproaches and invective, that he would willingly have taken

yet another bath in the Danube to wash them away. Frau Sophie only

scolded Timar indirectly, as she abused her husband for giving such a

ragged, dirty fellow, such a tipsy, beggarly scoundrel, a warrant like

that.

Why had he not given it to any other supercargo than Timar, who would

run away with the money, and drink and gamble till it was gone.

Timar stood the whole time with the same immovable calm in the midst of

this tumult as that with which he had defied storm and waves at the Iron

Gate. At last he broke silence: "Will you take charge of the money which

belongs to the orphan, or shall I give it over to the City Orphanage?"

(At this last question Brazovics got a great fright.) "Now, then, if you

please, come with me into the office and we will settle the affair at

once, for I don't like servants' squabbles."

With this hundred-pound insult he succeeded in suddenly silencing both

master and mistress. Against such scolds and blusterers, a good round

impertinence is the best remedy. Brazovics took the light and said, "All

right; bring the money along." Frau Sophie appeared all at once to be in

the best of tempers, and asked Timar if he would not have a glass of

wine first.

Timea was quite stunned; of what passed in a foreign language she

understood not a word, and the gestures and looks which accompanied it

were not calculated to enlighten her. Why should her guardian now kiss

and hug her, the orphan, and the next moment push her from him? Why did

he again take her on his lap, only to thrust her away once more? Why did

both of them scream at this man, who remained as calm as she had seen

him in the tempest, until he spoke a few words, quietly, without anger

or excitement, and thereby instantly silenced and overpowered the two

who had been like mad people the minute before, so that they could

prevail as little against him as the rocks and whirlpools and the armed

men. Of all that went on around her, she had not understood one word;

and now the man who had been hitherto her faithful companion, who had

gone "thrice" into the water for her sake, with whom alone she could

speak in Greek, was going away--forever, no doubt--and she would never

hear his voice again.

Yet no; once again it sounds in her ear. Before he stepped over the

threshold Timar turned to her and said in Greek, "Fraulein Timea, there

is what you brought away with you."

And with that he took the box of sweets from under his cloak. Timea ran

to him, took the box, and hastened to Athalie, in order to present to

her, with the sweetest smile, the gift she had brought from far away.

Athalie opened the box.

"_Fi donc!_" she exclaimed, "it smells of rose-water, just like the

pocket-handkerchiefs the maid-servants take to church."

Timea did not understand the words, but from the pouting lips and

turned-up nose she could easily guess their meaning, and that made her

very sad.

She made another attempt, and offered the Turkish sweetmeats to Frau

Sophie, who declined with the remark that her teeth were bad, and she

could not eat sweets. Quite cast down, she now offered them to the

lieutenant. He found them excellent, and swallowed three lumps in three

mouthfuls, for which Timea smiled at him gratefully.

Timar stood at the door and saw Timea smile. Suddenly it occurred to her

that she must offer him some of the Turkish delight. But it was already

too late, for Timar no longer stood there. Soon after, the lieutenant

took leave and departed. Being a man of breeding, he bowed to Timea

also, which pleased her greatly.

After a time Herr Brazovics returned to the room, and they were now just

the four alone.

Brazovics and Frau Sophie began to talk in a gibberish which was

intended for Greek.

Timea understood a word here and there, but the sense seemed to her more

strange than those languages which were altogether unknown to her.

They were consulting what to do with this girl whom they had been

saddled with. Her whole property consists of twelve thousand paper

gulden. Even if it were likely that the soaked grain should bring in a

little more, that would not suffice to educate her like a lady, like

Athalie.

Frau Sophie thought she must be treated as a servant, and get used to

cook and sweep, to wash and iron--that would be some use. With so little

money no one would marry her except some clerk or ship's captain, and

then it would have been better for her to be brought up as a servant and

not a lady.

But Athanas would not hear of it; what would people say? At last they

agree on a middle course; Timea is not to be treated like a regular

servant, but take the position of an adopted child. She will take her

meals with the family, but help to wait. She shall not stand at the

wash-tub, but must get up her own and Athalie's fine things. She must

sew what is wanted for the house, not in the maid's room but in the

gentlefolks' apartments; of course she will help Athalie to dress, that

will only be a pleasure to her, and she need not sleep with the maids

but in the same room as Athalie; the latter wants some one to keep her

company and be at her service. In return, Athalie can give her the old

clothes she no longer requires.

A girl who has only twelve thousand gulden can thank Heaven that such a

fate should fall to her share.

And Timea was satisfied with her lot. After the great and

incomprehensible catastrophe which had thrown her on the world, the

lonely creature clung to every being she came near. She was gentle and

obliging. This is the way of Turkish girls. It pleased her to be allowed

to sit by Athalie at supper, and it was not necessary to remind her: she

rose of her own accord to change the plates and wash the spoons, and

did it with cheerful looks and kind attention. She feared to annoy her

guardians if she looked sad, and yet she had cause enough. Especially

she busied herself in trying to help Athalie. Whenever she looked at

her, her face showed the open admiration which young girls feel for a

grown-up beauty; she forgot herself in gazing at the rosy cheeks and

bright eyes of the other. Those innocent minds think any one so lovely

must be very good.

She did not understand what Athalie said, for she did not even speak bad

Greek, like her parents; but she tried to guess by her eyes and hands

what was wanted. After supper, at which Timea only ate fruit and bread,

not being used to rich dishes, they went into the salon.

There Athalie sat down to the piano. Timea crouched near her on the

footstool and looked with admiration at her rapid execution. Then

Athalie showed her the portrait which the lieutenant had executed, and

Timea clasped her hands in astonishment.

"You never saw anything like it?"

"Where should she have seen such things?" answered the father. "If is

forbidden to the Turks to take a likeness of any one. That is why there

is a revolution just now--because the sultan has had his picture painted

and hung up over the divan. Ali Tschorbadschi was mixed up in the

movement, and was forced to fly. You poor old Tschorbadschi, to have

been such a fool!"

When Timea heard her father's name, she kissed the hand of Brazovics.

She supposed he had sent some pious blessing after the dead man.

Athalie went to bed, and Timea carried the light for her. Athalie seated

herself at her dressing-table, looked in the glass, sighed deeply, and

then sunk back in her chair tired and cross, with a gloomy countenance.

Timea would have liked to know why this lovely face had suddenly grown

so sad.

She took the comb from Athalie's hair and loosened the plaits with a

skillful hand, and then again dressed the richly flowing chestnut locks

for the night in a simple coil.

She took out the earrings, and her head came so near to Athalie's that

the latter could not help seeing the two contrasting faces in the

mirror.

One so radiant, rosy, and fascinating, the other so pale and soft; and

yet Athalie sprung up angrily and pushed away the glass. "Let us go to

sleep." The white face had thrown hers into the shade. Timea collected

the scattered clothes and folded them neatly together by instinct.

Then she knelt before Athalie and took off her stockings. Athalie

permitted it.

And after Timea had drawn them off, and held the snow-white foot, more

perfect than a sculptor's ideal, in her lap, she bent and pressed a kiss

on it. Athalie permitted that too.

_BOOK SECOND.--TIMEA._

CHAPTER I.

GOOD ADVICE.

Lieutenant Katschuka went through the cafe and found Timar there gulping

down a cup of black coffee. "I am soaked and frozen, and have a great

deal still to do to-day," he said to the officer, who hastened to press

his hand.

"Come and have a glass of punch with me."

"Many thanks, but I have no time now; I must go this instant to the

insurance company, that they may help me with the salvage of the cargo;

for the longer it remains under water the greater the damage. From there

I must run to the magistrate, that he may be in time to send some one to

Almas to receive the power of attorney; then I must go round to the

cattle-dealers and carriers, to induce them to come to the auction; and

later on I must go by the stage to Iotis to find out the starch

manufacturers there: they can make the best use of the wet grain.

Perhaps in this way some of the poor child's property may be saved. But

I have a letter to deliver to you which was given me in Orsova."

Katschuka read the letter, and then said to Timar, "Very good, my

friend. Do your business in the town, but afterward come to me for half

an hour; I live near the Anglia--over the door hangs a shield with a

large double eagle. While the diligence baits we will drink a glass of

punch and have a sensible talk; be sure you come."

Timar consented, and went off to look after his business. It might be

about eleven o'clock when he entered the door under the double eagle,

which was near the promenade called in Komorn the Anglia. Katschuka's

private servant waited for him there, and led him up to his master's

room. "Well, I expected," began Timar, "you would have been already

married to Athalie long before I came up from yonder."

"Yes, comrade, but the affair doesn't get on well; it is delayed by

first one thing and then another. It seems to me as if one of us is not

keen about it."

"Oh! you may be sure Athalie is keen enough."

"In this world you can't be sure of anything, least of all a heart. I

only say one thing, long engagements are bad. Instead of getting nearer

to each other people only get further apart, and learn to know each

other's failings and weaknesses. If this occurs after marriage one

thinks, in God's name, we can not go back. Let me advise you, comrade,

if you wish to marry and have fallen in love, don't wait long to think

about it; for if you begin to calculate it will only end in a breach."

"With you I should fancy there is no danger in calculations about a girl

who is so rich."

"Riches are relative, my friend. Believe me, every woman knows how to

get rid of the interest of her dowry; and then no one exactly knows the

financial position of Herr Brazovics. A heap of money goes through his

hands, but he does not like striking a proper business-like balance, so

as to show what he has gained or lost by his dealings."

"For my part I think he is very well off. And Athalie is a very pretty

and clever young lady."

"Yes, yes; but you need not praise Athalie to me like a horse you take

to market. Let us rather talk of your affairs."

If Katschuka had been able to look into Timar's heart he would have

found that what they had been talking of _was_ his friend's affair.

Timar had turned the conversation to Athalie because--because he envied

the officer the smile of Timea's face. It was as if he had said, "You

have no right to Timea's smile--you are engaged; marry Athalie!"

"Now, let us talk of serious matters. My friend in Orsova writes me that

I am to befriend you. Good; I will try. You are in a position anything

but pleasant: the ship intrusted to you is wrecked. It is not your

fault, but a great misfortune for you, for every one will now fear to

intrust you with a vessel. Your principal seizes your caution-money, and

who knows whether you can recover it by law. You would like to help the

poor orphan--I see it in your eyes; that she should lose such a pretty

fortune affects you more than any one else. How can we get out of this

with one _coup_?"

"I know no way out of it."

"But I do. Listen to me; next week the annual concentration of troops

begins round Komorn. Twenty thousand of them will be maneuvering here

for three weeks. A contract for the bread supply is on hand; large sums

will be paid, and he who goes about it wisely will make a good haul. All

the tenders go through my hands, and I can say beforehand who will get

the contract, for it depends more on what is not contained in the offer

than on what is. Till now Brazovics' tender is the lowest. He is

prepared to undertake the contract at 140,000 gulden, and promises 'the

officials concerned' 20,000 gulden."

"What do you mean?--the officials concerned?"

"Don't be so stupid. It is the usual thing that whoever receives such a

large contract should give a present to those who get it for him. It has

always been so since the world began. What else do we live on? You know

that well enough."

"Certainly; but I never tried it in my own person."

"Very foolish of you. You burn your fingers for other people, while you

might get the chestnuts out of the fire for yourself, if you knew how to

do it. Send in a tender to undertake the contract at 130,000 gulden, and

promise 30,000 commission."

"I can not do that for several reasons. First, I have not got the

deposit, which must accompany the tender; then I have not the capital

requisite to buy such quantities of grain and flour; next, I greatly

object to bribery; and lastly, I am not such a bad reckoner as to

persuade myself of the possibility of undertaking with only 130,000

gulden to complete the contract as well as pay the friendly commission."

Katschuka laughed at him. "Oh, my dear Michael, you will never be a man

of business. In our line that is always the way. Only to make a groschen

on a gulden is peddler's trade. The chief thing is to have interest, and

you don't want for that; that's what I am good for. We have been good

friends ever since our school days: rely on me. How do you mean you have

no money to deposit? Hand over the receipt for your caution-money of

10,000 gulden which you left with Brazovics--it will be regarded as a

sufficient security--and then I will tell you what to do next; go

quickly to Almas, and bid yourself for the sunken cargo. The grain,

which represents a value of 100,000 gulden, will certainly be knocked

down to you for 10,000. Then you will possess 10,000 measures of corn.

You will promise all the millers in Almas, Fuzito, and Izsaer double pay

if they will grind your corn at once. Meanwhile you build ovens, in

which the corn is immediately baked into bread. Within three weeks it

will all be consumed, and if a bad part slips in, it will be the

business of your 'good friends' to hush it up. At the end of three weeks

you will have a clear gain of at least 70,000 gulden. Believe me, if I

were to take such an affair to your principal, he would seize it with

both hands. I wonder at your slowness."

Timar thought it over. It was indeed a tempting offer. To make in three

weeks 60,000 or 70,000 gulden--and without much trouble, in complete

security. The first week the ration-bread would be rather sweeter than

usual, the second week rather bitterer, and the third week rather musty.

But soldiers do not look narrowly at such things; they are used to it.

But yet Timar turned with disgust from this bitter cup. "Oh, Emerich!"

he said, laying his hand on his former schoolmate's shoulder, "where

have you learned such things?"

"Why," answered the other, with a gloomy face, "there where they are

taught. When I entered on the military career, I was full of romantic

illusions. They are all in ashes now. Then I thought this was the school

of chivalry, the heroic career, and my heart beat high at the thought:

now I know that all in this world is speculation, and that public

concerns are governed by private interests. In the engineers I had

completed my studies, with remarkable, I may say distinguished results.

When I was sent to Komorn, the prospect filled me with pride, at the

opportunity I should have for the development of my capacities in

military engineering. The first plan for the fortifications submitted by

me was declared to be a masterpiece by good judges; but do not imagine

that it was accepted: on the contrary, I received orders to prepare

another, which was more costly, and involved the expropriation of whole

streets in the town. Well, I prepared that too. You will remember that

part of the town which is now an open space--this change cost half a

million. Your principal had some ruinous houses there which he sold at

the price of palaces. And they call that fortification! And for that I

had studied engineering. Well, a man falls by degrees and finds his

level. Perhaps you have heard the anecdote--it is in every mouth--how

the Crown-Prince Ferdinand, when he visited us last year, said to the

commandant of the fortress, 'I thought this fortress was black?' 'Why

should it be black, your imperial highness?' 'Because in the

fortification accounts there are every year 10,000 gulden put down for

ink. I thought the walls must be dyed with ink.' Every one laughed, and

that was the end of it. If nothing comes out, nothing is said; and if

everything comes out, it only raises a laugh. You had better laugh too!

Or will it please you better to be shoved out into the world from the

threshold of the corn-dealer, and sell matches with two kreutzers profit

a day? I have already come down from the ethereal regions. Off, my

friend, to Almas, and buy the sunken wheat. Till ten to-morrow night you

will have time to send in your tender. Listen, there is the

diligence--be off, and see that you get back quickly."

"I will think it over," said Timar, slowly.

"Remember that you will do the poor orphan a good turn, if you give

10,000 gulden for her lost property. Otherwise she won't have as many

hundred when the salvage is paid."

Those words rang in Timar's ears. An invisible hand drove him on. "_Fata

nolentem trahunt!_" says St. Augustine. Soon after, Timar sat again in

the diligence, which galloped away with its four Neudorf horses. In the

town every one slept. Only at the station-house sounded the night

watchman's call. No one has written on his brow what the next day will

bring to him; but from the walls the sentries, wet through with the

autumn rain, challenged in turn "Who goes there?"--"Patrol"--"Pass."

What sort of bread have these fellows had?

CHAPTER II.

THE RED CRESCENT.

On the following day, Timar did actually bid for the sunken grain in

company with brokers and millers, who made trifling bids, a few groschen

a measure. Timar got tired of this groschen business, and suddenly

cried, "I will give ten thousand gulden for the whole cargo." When the

bidders heard this they ran away, and it would have been in vain to run

after them. The official auctioneer accepted Timar's offer, and gave

over the whole cargo to him as his property. Every one thought him mad.

What could he do with such a mass of soaked grain? What he did was this.

He lashed two lighters together, fastened them with iron clamps to the

deck of the sunken ship, and made arrangements to get up the cargo.

There was a change since yesterday in the position of the vessel, for

the stern had sunk so that now the forepart stood out of water, and one

of the two cabins was quite dry. Timar installed himself here, and then

began the hard work. He tore up the deck, and with the help of a crane

drew up one sack after the other. They were first piled near the cabin,

that the water might drain away; then they were transferred to a raft,

and taken ashore: there straw mats were laid, on which the grain was

shaken and spread out. Timar bargained meanwhile with the millers for

immediate grinding of the corn. The weather was favorable, there was a

strong wind, and the corn dried fast.

If only the work would go on quickly!

He began to calculate. The little ready money he had would all go to the

payment of the work-people; if the undertaking failed he would be a

beggar. Johann Fabula told him beforehand, that after this senseless

purchase nothing would be left him but to hang the last sack round his

neck, and throw himself into the Danube. A thousand disquieting thoughts

passed through Timar's head, without beginning or end. He looked on till

night-fall, while one sack after the other was propped against the cabin

wall. The sacks all had the same mark--a five-spoked wheel printed in

black on the sacking. In truth, that poor fugitive pasha had been wiser,

if, instead of buying so much grain, he had just put his money in his

knapsack. And to think of pursuing him so obstinately only for this

stuff! Was it worth while to flee only for this, and then actually to

poison himself? Till late evening the work continued, and still only

about three thousand measures were spread out to dry. Timar promised the

laborers double pay if they would work a few hours longer. The grain

which lies a second night under water will hardly make bread. The

sack-carriers worked on cheerfully.

The wind had dispersed the clouds, and the moon appeared again in the

sunset sky. Heavens and moon were red.

"How ghostly it looks!" said Timar, and turned his back on the moon, so

as not to see it.

But even as he stood there, and counted the sacks as they were drawn up,

the red moon rose again before him. This time it was painted on a sack.

In the place where the other sacks bore a wheel of five spokes, here

above the trade-mark a crescent was painted in vermilion.

A cold shiver ran through Timar. Here was the answer to the riddle! This

was what the dying man meant by his last words. But either his

confidence was not strong enough, or else time had failed him to finish

his phrase. When the laborers turned away Timar took the sack and

carried it into the cabin; no one noticed it, and then he locked the

door behind him.

The work-people went on for two hours more; but at last they were so

tired, wet, and stiff with water and wind, that they were not in a

condition to go on any longer: the rest of the cargo must wait till the

morrow. The wearied folk hurried to the nearest alehouse to warm

themselves with food and drink. Timar remained alone on board: he said

he wished to count the unloaded sacks, and would row himself ashore in

the little boat. The moon had reached the water with its lower horn, and

seemed to look in at the cabin window. Timar's hand trembled as if with

ague. When he opened the blade of his knife, he cut his hand, and the

drops of blood painted stars on the sack by the side of the red

crescent. He cut the rope with which the sack was tied, and put his hand

in; what he brought out was beautiful white wheat. Then he cut the lower

end of the sack; here too only grain came out. He now slit the whole

sack up, and with the scattered corn, a long leathern bag fell at his

feet. The bag had a lock. He broke it open.

And then he shook the contents out on to the bed--the same bed where

once the living marble statue had lain.

What a sight was presented to him in the moonlight! Long rows of rings

strung together--brilliant, sapphire, and emerald rings; armlets of

opals and huge turquoises; pearl bracelets, each bead as large as a

hazel-nut; a necklace of magnificent brilliants of the finest water; an

agate box, from which when he opened it a whole heap of unset diamonds

flashed upon him; at the bottom of the bag a number of agraffes and

girdles, all set with rubies, and four rouleaux, each containing five

hundred louis d'or. Here was an enormous treasure, at least a million

gulden.

Now one can understand the man fleeing even to the bottom of the Danube,

that this treasure might not fall into the hands of his pursuers. For

this, it was worth while to send a gunboat and spies after the fugitive.

For this, it was worth while to cut the tow-rope in the midst of a storm

at the Iron Gate.

The "St. Barbara" had carried a million on board! that is no child's

play, no dream--it is reality. Ali Tschorbadschi's treasures lie there

on the wet quilt with which Timea had once covered herself. Whoever

knows the value of pearls and precious stones, can understand that it

was not for nothing that Ali Tschorbadschi had been Governor of Candia

and guardian of the treasury.

Timar sat in silent stupefaction on the edge of the bed, and held in his

trembling hands the agate box, whose diamonds sparkled in the moonlight.

He looked away through the window at the moon shining in. Again the moon

seemed to have eyes and mouth, as it is depicted in the almanac, and to

be entering into conversation with the poor mortal.

"To whom do these treasures belong?"

"Why, whom should they belong to but you? You bought the sunken cargo,

just as it is, with the sacks and the grain. You were liable to the

danger that it might remain on your hands as spoiled waste, as stinking

rubbish. Now it has turned into gold and jewels. It is true that the

dying man said something about the Red Crescent, and you puzzled your

head as to what he could have meant; you wondered how it was possible

that the refugee should have no more property than was visible. Now you

see clearly how it all hung together; but then, when you bought the

cargo, you did not know--you bought this mass of wet grain for quite

another purpose. You wanted to make sweet and bitter bread out of it for

the poor soldiers. Fate willed otherwise. Do you not see that this is a

sign from Heaven? It would not permit you to make a shameful profit at

the expense of twenty thousand poor soldiers--it has provided for you

otherwise. As Providence has prevented something wicked, that which

happened by its direction must without doubt be good."

"Besides, to whom should these treasures belong?"

"The sultan must have stolen them in his victorious campaigns; the

treasurer most probably stole them from the sultan. Both were robbed of

them by the Danube: now they have no owner--they belong to you. You

possess them at any rate with just as much right as the sultan, the

treasurer, and the Danube."

"And Timea?"

At this question a long narrow black cloud rose before the moon's face.

Timar remained long in thought. The moon appeared again.

"So much the better for you. You know best how the world treats a poor

devil like you. They scold him when he has done his duty; they call him

a knave when a misfortune overtakes him; they allow him to hang himself

on the nearest tree when he has nothing more to live on; for his

love-sorrows pretty girls have no balm. A poor man remains always only a

clerk. Then see how the world honors the rich man--how people seek for

his friendship, ask his advice, and trust him with the fate of the

nation; and women, how they fall in love with him! Did you ever get even

a friendly word of thanks from their lips? What would you get if you

took the treasure you have found and laid it at her feet with the words,

'There, take what is yours--I saved it for you from the depths?' In the

first place, she would not know how to use it. She can hardly

distinguish the value of a box of diamonds from that of a box of sweets;

she is only a child; and then it would never reach her hands, for her

adopted papa would absorb it and get rid of nine tenths of it. Who can

prevent him from taking one gem at a time and turning it into money? But

granted that Timea gets it, what would be the result? She would be a

rich lady, who would not cast a look at you from her height; and you

would remain a miserable supercargo, in whom it would be madness even to

dream of her. Now, however, things are the other way--you will be a rich

man and she a poor girl. Is not that exactly what you desired of fate?

Well, that is what has happened. Did you put that log in the way of the

ship which stove her in? Do you mean badly by Timea? No; you do not want

to keep for yourself the treasures you have found; you will invest them

profitably, increase them, and when you have earned with the first

million a second and a third, then you will go to the poor girl and say,

'There, take it--it is all yours; and take me too.' Do you wish to do

anything wrong with it? You only wish to become rich in order to make

her happy. You can sleep with a good conscience, having such designs."

The moon was already half hidden in the Danube; only the tip of one horn

rose from the water like a light-house; its reflection in the waves

reached to the ship's bow; and every ray and every wave spoke to Timar.

And they all said, "You have fortune in your hand; hold it fast--you

risk nothing. The only one who knew of the treasure lies below the

Danube."

Timar heard what was whispered to him, and also the secret voice in his

own breast, and cold drops stood on his brow. The moon's fiery tip

vanished beneath the surface of the water, and cried to him with its

last ray, "You are rich--you are a made man!"

But when it was dark, the inward voice whispered in the silent night,

"You are a thief!"

An hour afterward a four-horse post-chaise was rushing along the Szonyer

road at a gallop, and as the tower clock of St. Andrew's Church in

Komorn struck eleven, the carriage stood at the door in the Anglia

under the double eagle. Timar sprung quickly out and hurried in. He was

expected.

CHAPTER III.

THE GOLD MINE.

After the concentration of troops in Komorn, Timar had suddenly become a

wealthy man. He had bought a house in the Servian Street, the "City" of

the Komorn merchants. No one was surprised. The phrase once uttered by

the Emperor Francis I. to a contractor who had remained poor, was, "The

ox stood at the manger, why did he not eat?" These golden words have, I

fancy, been written by every contractor in his memorandum-book.

How much Timar made by his bread contract it is impossible to say; but

that he has suddenly become a great personage it is easy to see. He is

always on the spot when there is a large undertaking on hand, and has

money in abundance. This is not surprising to merchants or speculators;

the first stage is the difficult one. If once the first hundred thousand

gulden are made, the rest follows of itself--he has credit.

On one point Herr Brazovics had no doubt whatever. He guessed rightly

that Timar had offered the officials a larger commission than he himself

usually did, and that he had thus obtained the profitable bread contract

by which Brazovics usually enriched himself. But that he should have

made so large a profit out of it--on that point he shook his head

incredulously. Since Timar had risen in the world, and become his own

master, Brazovics cultivated the friendship of his former supercargo,

and invited him to his evening receptions, which Timar accepted

willingly enough. He met Timea there very often, who had already learned

a little colloquial Hungarian.

Timar was now welcome even to Sophie, who once half whispered and half

screamed to Athalie that it would do no harm if she was rather more

friendly to him, for he was now a rich man, a far from despicable

_parti_, worth more than three officers put together, who have nothing

but their smart uniform and their debts. To which Fraulein Athalie

replied, "It does not follow that I should take my father's servant for

a husband." Frau Sophie could finish the sentence for herself--"Because

my papa married his maid-servant"--in which lay a well-earned reproach

to Frau Sophie. How could she have dared to intrude herself in the

capacity of mother upon such a grand young lady!

Toward the end of supper one evening, as the two sat alone at table,

Herr Brazovics began to incite Timar to drink, by repeatedly taking wine

with him. His own head was pretty strong from constant practice, but

this poor devil could never have been used to the bottle.

When they were well on the road, he cunningly brought up the subject.

"You, Michael, out with the truth now--how did you contrive to profit so

much by the commissariat contract? I have tried it myself, and I know

what can be got out of it. I also have mixed feldspar, bran, and

millers' dust with the dough; I understand how to get acorns ground

instead of corn, and know the difference between rye and wheat flour;

but to make such a _coup_ as you have done has never happened to me.

Confess now! What trick were you up to? You are already wealthy--you

have found a gold mine."

Timar put on the look of a tipsy man who required six horse-power to

raise his eyelids, and began with drunken fluency and a stammering

tongue to explain. "Well, you must know, sir--"

"No sir to me! How often have I told you! Call me by my name."

"Well, then, you must know, Nazi, it was no trick. You remember that I

bought in the soaked grain-cargo of the 'St. Barbara' at a nominal

price, a gulden a measure. I did not get rid of it, as people fancied,

to the millers and farmers, with a profit of a couple of groschen; but I

had it baked into bread at once, which did not cost me half so much as

if I had bought the very cheapest flour."

"Oh, you prodigy! I ought to go to school to you in my old age. You

arch-rascal! Was the ration-bread very bad, then?"

Michael laughed so that the wine almost ran out of his mouth again. "I

should just think it was bad--bad beyond words."

"And were no complaints laid before the commissariat committee?"

"What use would that have been, when I had the whole lot of them in my

pocket?"

"But the commandant of the fortress, the inspector of ordnance?"

"I squared them too," cried Michael, proudly, striking his pocket, in

which so many great men had found room. The eyes of Herr Brazovics shone

in a curious way, as if they were even redder than usual. "And did you

give the bread made of soaked wheat to the soldiers to eat?"

"Why not? Bread once swallowed tells no tales."

"Quite true, Michael, quite true; but you be careful not to tell any one

yourself. You can tell me, of course--I am your true friend; but if one

of your enemies got wind of it, it might go badly with you. Your house

in the Servian Street might go too. Hold your tongue before other

people."

On this Timar began, like one who has suddenly come to his senses, to

entreat Herr Brazovics not to betray his secret and make him miserable;

he even kissed his hands. Brazovics pacified him, he need not be uneasy

about him, he must not let out his secret to others. Then he called the

servant and ordered him to take a lantern and go home with Herr Timar,

and take good care of him that he should come to no harm, and if he were

unable to walk, to take his arm. When the servant returned, he related

what trouble it had cost him to get Timar home; he had not known his own

door, and had begun to sing in the street. They had at last got him to

bed, and there the good gentleman had instantly gone to sleep. But when

Brazovics' servant had gone, Timar left his bed, and wrote letters until

morning.

He had not been in the least tipsy. Timar was as certain that his dear

friend would at once give information of the whole affair as that Monday

comes after Sunday; and he also knew to whom.

It was therefore no surprise to him that, a few days later, after an

evening spent with Brazovics, he was cited to appear at the fortress,

where a gentleman entitled "Financial Privy Counselor" gave him to

understand that he was to remain for the present under strict

observation, and demanded his keys, in order to lay an embargo on his

books and papers.

This will be a big thing. Timar's secret had been denounced to the

general chamber of finance, which was in rivalry with the leaders of the

council of war. Here was an opportunity to reveal in the most

conspicuous way the scandals which took place in the bosom of this

community, and to remove from it the control of the commissariat. The

accusation was supported by the three high courts--only the police

department was on the side of the council of war. At last the chamber

gave its decision, and a commission was appointed, with strict

injunctions to spare no one, to suspend the whole department of supply,

to request the commandant to arrest the contractor, commence a criminal

suit, and discover everything. If one morsel of musty bread should

appear against Timar, woe to him!

But nothing of the sort was found. For eight days the commission worked

day and night. They heard witnesses, took oaths, inquired, had the

provost up--all in vain, no one could say anything against Timar. From

the whole inquiry it was proved that he had divided the spoiled cargo

among millers, country people, and manufacturers; that not one single

handful had been mixed with the bread baked for the troops. They had

even the soldiers up to give evidence. They said they had never eaten

better bread than during the two weeks when it was provided by Timar. No

complaint, no adverse witness appeared against him, much less could the

officials be accused of corruption; they had given the contract to him

who offered the best and lowest terms. At last they boiled over; they

felt insulted by the inquiry, stormed and rattled their swords; the

commission, driven into a corner, got alarmed, revoked, rehabilitated,

and tried to get away from Komorn as quickly as possible. Timar was set

free with many excuses, and with the assurance that he was a thoroughly

honest man.

At his acquittal Herr Katschuka was the first who hastened to

congratulate him, and shook his hand demonstratively in public. "My

friend, you must not put up with this quietly; you must have

satisfaction for it. Just fancy, they suspected _me_ of being bribed! Go

to Vienna and demand reparation; the informer must have an exemplary

punishment. And in future," he added aside, "you may be sure no one will

ever get us out of the saddle. Strike while the iron is hot."

Timar promised to do so, and mentioned his intention to Brazovics when

he next met him. The latter seemed furious at the ill-treatment his

friend Michael had received. Who could the scoundrel be who had so

libeled him?

"Whoever it may be," Timar declared, "shall rue it dearly; and if he has

a house in Komorn, I'll lay my head that this joke will cost him his

home. I am going to-morrow morning to Vienna, to demand satisfaction

from the treasury."

"Yes, do so, by all means," said Brazovics; and thought to himself,

"Just as well that I know it; I shall be there too."

And he happened to get there a day sooner than Timar. There, with the

assistance of his old connections, he so prepared the way (which cost

him a mint of money) that if once Timar set his foot in this labyrinth,

he would never get out again. From the treasury he will be sent to the

high court; there the affair will be given over to the judicial office,

thence to the superintendent of police, and from there to the secret

department of finance.

The unfortunate plaintiff at last loses patience, gets angry, and says a

few impudent words--even possibly gets them printed. Then the censor

gets hold of him, and at last he begs to be let go, and swears never

again to pull the bell at any public office. He will be a fool for his

pains if he tries to get justice. But Timar was not a fool; he was far

cleverer than either of his advisers--than both put together. He had

grown cunning from the time when he let himself be persuaded to take the

first wrong step: he knew already that you should never tell any one the

real thing you are going to do. At Pancsova, when he snapped his fingers

at the authorities, he had shown what talents lay undiscovered in him.

Then he had done in another's interest what could be of no use to

himself: he did what he was told to do, and humbugged the pursuers; now

he was doing it in his own interest. Being in possession of the

treasure-trove, he must find some excuse for appearing as a rich man

before the public. He must pretend to be a speculator who had been lucky

in his business. In his very first affair he must be reputed to have

made large sums. If people imagined he had made his money by corrupt

means, that was the lesser evil; and it could not be proved, for it was

not true. He had been put to such great expense by the contract, that

hardly any profit was left; but he was in a position to buy houses and

ships, and pay in gold, and every one thought the money at his disposal

came from his successful tender. He required a pretext, a title, a

visible ground, in order to go quietly forward with the help of

Tschorbadschi's wealth.

What, then, did he do in Vienna?

He must ask for compensation from the exchequer, and could reckon on the

support of the war department. From his friends at Komorn he had

received letters of recommendation to the most influential officials. He

left all these letters at the bottom of his trunk, and went direct to

the chancellor himself, of whom he requested an audience. The minister

was pleased that this man did not try to get in by backstairs influence,

but came direct by the front entrance. He admitted him. The minister was

a tall man with a clean-shaven face, an imposing double chin, severe

brows, and very bald. On his breast shone numerous orders. He had stuck

both hands under his coat-tails when this poor individual with the big

mustache was shown in. Timar wore a simple black Hungarian costume.

The first question of his excellency to Timar was, "Why do you not wear

a sword when you come to an audience?"

"I am not a noble, gracious sir."

"Indeed! I suppose you have come to me to ask for compensation for your

arrest and the injury which was inflicted on you?"

"Far from it," answered Timar. "The government only did its duty in

proceeding against greater men than I, as well as myself, on the ground

of apparently well-founded information. As I am not of nobility, it is

of no consequence to me to lay damages on account of my injured honor.

Indeed, I owe gratitude to the informer as well as to the court, for

having by their strict inquiry made it perfectly clear that my hands

were clean all through my contract."

"Oh, then, you have no intention of demanding satisfaction from the

informer?"

"On the contrary, I should think it unadvisable to do so, for many an

honest man might be prevented from revealing real abuses. My honor is

established: it is not my nature to revenge myself. Besides, I have

neither time nor desire for it. Forgive and forget."

While Timar spoke, his excellency had already taken one hand from under

his coat-tails in order to clap Timar on the shoulder.

"That is a very practical way of looking at it. You can do better than

losing time by running about after vengeance. A very sensible idea. What

brings you, then, to me?"

"A tender for which I need your excellency's protection."

The excellency stuck his hand behind him again.

"The crown has a property on the frontier, in Levetincz."

"H'm!" grumbled the great man, and frowned. "What do you want with it?"

"In my business as a wholesale dealer, I have often been there, and know

the local circumstances. The crown lands extend to thirty thousand

acres, and are let to Silbermann, the Vienna banker, at forty kreutzers

an acre. The conclusion of this contract lies within the province of the

treasury; but the disposal of the income belongs to the military

department. This income amounts to a hundred thousand gulden. Silbermann

divided the estate into three parts, and let to subtenants at a gulden

an acre."

"Of course he wanted to make something out of it."

"Naturally. The subtenants let the land in smaller parcels to the

peasantry for a certain percentage of the crops. But now, after two bad

harvests, the land in the Banat has not even grown enough for seed-corn.

The peasants got nothing, and could not give any percentage to the

subtenants, who paid nothing to the crown lessee; and he, in order to

get rid of his contract, went bankrupt, and paid no rent to the

government."

Now both hands of the great official came out and began to gesticulate.

"Yes; because he lived in princely luxury, the rascal! Just imagine, he

kept horses which cost eight thousand gulden, and drove them about. Now

they are up for sale. I am an 'excellency,' but I am not in a position

to keep such costly horses as those."

Timar took no notice, and continued his remarks: "The treasury now is

defrauded of its rent, for there is nothing to seize. The tenant and the

subtenants are married; their whole property belongs to their wives

under the name of dowry. The hundred thousand gulden are lost to the

military department, which, I have been told, will claim the sum from

the exchequer."

The chancellor opened his snuff-box, and while he put his two fingers in

for a pinch, he threw an inquiring look on the speaker with one eye.

"My humble offer therefore is," continued Timar, laying a folded paper

on the table, "to rent the Levetincz estate for ten years at the price

paid by the sub-lessees--namely, a gulden an acre."

"Very good."

"The new tenant will already have lost a year, for it is November, and

all the fields are lying fallow. But in spite of that, I offer not only

to include the past year in the term, but also to be responsible for the

irrecoverable rent."

His excellency tapped twice on the lid of his gold snuff-box, and pursed

his lips together. Well, thought he, this is a man of gold. He is not

such a fool as he looks. He guesses that the treasury would like to take

the commissariat out of the hands of the war office, and that all this

was mixed up with the inquiry at Komorn. Then, after that horrible

fiasco, the clattering swords are at the top of the tree, and would be

very glad to get the manipulation of the lands on the military frontier

into their own hands. They think it would be a good milch-cow, and the

deficit caused by the bankruptcy of the Levetincz tenant gives them a

pretext. And now this fellow does not combine with the enemies of the

treasury which persecuted him, but comes over to us, and will improve

our position and help us out of our difficulty. A man of gold indeed,

and to be properly appreciated! "Good!" said his excellency; "I see you

are an honest man. You had some cause to complain of us, but abstained:

you will see that this is the right way for a good citizen to act. Just

to show you that the state knows how to reward patriotic subjects, I

guarantee you the acceptance of your offer. Come to my office to-night.

I pledge you my word as to the result."

Timar presented his offer in writing, and took leave with low bows. His

excellency was pleased with this man. In the first place, he is wise

enough to look over the injustice done to him, which if he had followed

it up would have brought unpleasant scandal on the department. Secondly,

he offers the government an advantageous rent, fifty per cent higher

than the last. Thirdly, he comes to the aid of the exchequer with a

generous offer, and enables them victoriously to repel the attack of the

war department. He is a threefold man of gold--no, fourfold--but of that

his excellency knows nothing as yet. He was to learn it for the first

time when he went home to dinner at his palace, and his stud-groom

informed him that the gentleman from Hungary who had been commissioned

by his excellency to bid for the eight thousand gulden horses had

brought them home, and would personally report particulars of their

price to his excellency.

A four-fold treasure!

When Timar visited the great man in his office that evening, he saw on

every face a polite smile--the reflection of gold. His excellency met

him at the door, and led him to the table. There lay the contract

outspread; complete with all signatures, with the greater and lesser

seals affixed. "Read--I hope you will be satisfied."

The first thing which surprised Timar was that the lease ran for twenty

years instead of ten.

"Well, are you satisfied with the term."

Was he satisfied! The second surprising thing was his own name, "Michael

Timar, Baron von Levetinczy."

"Do you like your title?"

CHAPTER IV.

MICHAEL TIMAR, BARON VON LEVETINCZY.

"The diploma of nobility shall be sent to you," said the great man with

a gracious smile.

Timar signed his name, with the addition of his new title, to the

contract.

"Do not be in a hurry," said his excellency, "I have something more to

say. It is a duty of the government to distinguish those who have

deserved it by their services to the nation. Especially in regard to

such as have won universal recognition in the regions of commerce and

political economy. Could you name any one whom I could recommend in the

highest quarters for the decoration of the Iron Crown?"

His excellency was quite prepared to receive for answer--"Here is my own

button-hole, sir; you can find no better place for your order of merit.

If you only want an honest man, here am I." And the offer was made with

this idea.

So much the greater was the astonishment of the minister when Michael

Timar-Levetinczy after a brief pause replied--"Yes, sir, I will make so

free as to point out a person who has long enjoyed universal respect,

who has secretly been the benefactor of the district where he lives; it

is no other than the Dean of Plesscovacz, Cyril Sandorovics, who

deserves this distinction in an imminent degree."

The minister started back. An individual had never before come under his

notice who, on being asked--"To whom shall I give this order," had not

turned to the mirror, and pointing to himself, replied--"Give it to this

worthy man!" but who instead of that had indicated with his finger the

furthest limit of the national map, and there seeking out a country

priest, not his brother-in-law or godfather, not even a priest of his

own church, had said--"This is a better man than I." Indeed this is a

man of pure gold. A gold worker would have to mix at least three carats

of silver with him before he would be malleable. But as the question has

been asked, it must be seriously considered. "Good, good," replied the

great man, "but the bestowal of an order involves certain formalities.

The sovereign can not contemplate the eventuality of a refusal: the

person to whom such a distinction falls must go through the form of

personally applying for it."

"His reverence is a very modest man, and would only, if I know him,

decide on such a step on receiving an invitation from high quarters."

"Indeed? I understand. A line from my hand would suffice? Good. As it is

recommended by you, it shall be done. Yes; the state must reward modest

merit."

And the great man wrote with his own hand a few lines to the Rev. Dean

Cyril Sandorovics, with the assurance that, if he desired it, he should

receive the decoration of the Iron Crown in return for services. Timar

thanked his excellency warmly for this favor, and was assured of his

high protection for all future time. And, further, Timar had the

pleasure of finding that in the whole office, where one generally has to

go through every kind of tiresome formality, here every one was at his

service, so that he only required an hour to get through his business,

while it would have taken any one else weeks before he could get out of

this official labyrinth. The water-jug of the Orsova purifier was there

in an invisible shape!

It was night before he had packed all the documents relative to his

completed contract in his portmanteau. And now for speed! He neither

supped nor slept, but hastened to the Golden Lamb, where the mail-cart

put up. In the bar he bought a roll and a smoked sausage, which he put

in his pocket; he could eat them on the journey. Then he called to the

driver, "We must be off at once--spare neither whip nor horses. I will

give you a gulden an hour for yourself, and pay double price for my

place." It was needless to say more.

Two minutes later the mail-cart was dashing through the streets of

Vienna with great cracking of whips, the police in vain calling out that

it was forbidden in Vienna. The courier-posts, which at that time took

the place of railways, formed one connected chain between Vienna and

Semlin. The horses stood harnessed day and night, and as soon the crack

of the whip at one end of the village announced the approach of the

post, the postmaster brought out the new team from the stable, and in

two minutes the cart with the fresh horses rolled away over hill and

dale at a gallop. If two post-carts met on the road they changed horses

and drivers, who then had only half the distance to go back. The speed

of the journey was regulated by the amount of the pay.

Timar sat in the cart two days and nights without getting down for a

meal, let alone a night's rest. He was quite used to sleeping in the

carriage, in spite of shaking and rolling and knocking about.

On the evening of the second day he was in Semlin, whence he drove all

night to the first village on the Levetinczy estate.

It was fine mild weather for the first of December. He drove to the

little town hall, and sent for the village judge; he told him he was the

new tenant of the estate, and requested him to make known to the farmers

that they could rent the land in shares as in former years. During the

two last years the fields which bore no fruit had lain as good as

fallow, so that there would be a prospect of a rich harvest for the next

season. The weather was favorable, the autumn lasting long; by setting

to work at once there was still time to plow and sow.

That was all very well, they replied; plowing could be managed if the

principal thing, seed-corn, were not wanting. It was not to be got for

love or money. The landowners had only with the greatest difficulty

secured any for themselves; poor people would have to live on maize all

the winter.

Timar gave the consoling assurance that he would take care that they did

not want for seed-corn, and so he went through the other villages whose

inhabitants farmed as subtenants, and who, on his permission, got out

their plows and went to turn over the fields which had been allowed to

lie fallow a whole year. But where was the seed to come from? It was too

late to get grain from Wallachia, and there was none in the

neighborhood. But Timar knew where to get it. On the 2d December he

reached Plesscovacz, whence a short time before he had almost been

driven by force, and sought out his reverence, Cyril Sandorovics, who

had then turned him out of his house.

"Aha! my son, are you here again?" This was his reception by the

venerable gentleman, that friend and benefactor of the people who ought

long ago to have received the order of the Iron Crown if he had not been

so retiring. "What do you want now? To buy grain? I told you two months

ago I had none, and could not sell any. It is no use talking! You will

lie in vain, for I don't believe a word you say. You have a Greek name

and a long mustache. I don't trust your face."

Timar smiled. "Well, this time nothing but truth shall pass my lips."

"Tell that to the other people. You dealers from the upper country are

always deceiving us. You pretend there was a poor harvest in your parts

and drive our prices down. When you wanted to buy hay from us, you

spread the report that the government was going to sell all its horses.

You are a rascally lot."

"But now I tell you the truth. I am here with a commission from the

government to beg your reverence in their name to open your granaries.

The government having heard that the people are in need of seed-corn,

wishes to divide among them some supplies of grain. This is a sacred

purpose, a great benefit to be conferred on the people, and whoever

assists them in this renders them a great service. I am not to receive

the grain, but it is to be delivered to the farmers, who will use it for

seed-corn."

"My son, that is all very true, and I am very sorry for the poor people,

but I have no grain. Where should I get it? I had no harvest. There is

my great stupid barn, but all three floors are empty."

"It is not empty, reverend sir. I know very well that three years'

harvest is stored away there: I could get at least ten thousand measures

out of it."

"You would get trash. Spare yourself the trouble. I would not sell for

five gulden a measure; in the spring it will be seven gulden, and then I

will sell. You lie in your throat when you say the government sends you;

you only want to make your own profit, and not a grain will you get from

me. Much the government knows about you and me; we might as well be in

the moon for all it cares!"

Till now the fortress had held out bravely against small arms. But Timar

put his hand in his pocket and brought out a four-and-twenty pounder,

the minister's letter. When the reverend gentleman had read it he could

hardly believe his own eyes.

The great seal on the envelope with the imperial double eagle, the stamp

of the exchequer on the paper, left no room for doubt. It was no

deception but the absolute truth.

To wear that brilliant cross upon his breast had long been the _ne plus

ultra_ of his dreams. Timar knew of this weakness of the dean's, who

often, as they sat over their wine, had bitterly complained of the

injustice of the government in heaping decorations on the patriarch at

Carlovitz. Why give all to one and send the other empty away? Now he had

attained his greatest desire--how the peasants will gape at him when he

has attached this order to his breast, and how the Tschaikiss captain

will envy him, having none of his own! Even the patriarch will be a

degree more condescending in future. Meanwhile, his own manner to Timar

had suddenly undergone a great change.

"Sit down, little brother!" (until now he had not even offered a

seat)--"tell me, how did you get to know their excellencies? Why did

they intrust the letter to you?"

Timar told him some story or other, and lied like print. He had given up

his post under Brazovics and taken service under government. He had

great influence with the minister, and it was he who had recommended his

reverence for this distinction, as a good old friend of his own.

"I knew you were not such a fool as you look; that's why I have always

liked you so much. Now, my son, because you have such a beautiful Greek

name, and such an honest face, you shall have the grain. How much do you

want? Ten, twelve thousand measures? I will sell you all I have. Not to

please the minister, no, indeed! but for the sake of your own honest

face, and to do good to the poor people. What price did I say? Five

gulden? I will tell you what, I will give it to _you_ for four gulden

nineteen kreutzers. You pay cash down? Or shall I get the money in

Vienna? I shall be going there, and can do it at the same time. I must

thank his excellency in person for this honor. You will come and

introduce me? Or if you want to have nothing to do with it, tell me at

any rate what sort of a man he is. Is he big or little, friendly or

haughty? Will he give me the cross himself? Does he like good Carlovitz

and Vermuth? Now then, you shall taste some yourself."

In vain Timar assured him he must go back that night to Levetinczy, to

give orders to the steward to send the tenants for the seed-corn. The

friendly host would not part with his guest, but placed the servant at

his disposal, who could ride to Levetinczy and deliver the instructions.

Michael must remain overnight with him. The reverend gentleman had

glasses with rounded bottoms, which when they were filled could not be

laid down till they were empty. He gave one to Timar, took another

himself, and so they caroused till morning. And Timar showed no signs of

drink; he had lived in that district and had got used to it. Early in

the morning the farmers came with their wagons to the dean's court-yard.

When they saw that the doors of the three-storied granary were really

open, they said to Timar he was the right sort of saint and could work

miracles. In the barn were supplies for three years, more than was

required for all their winter seed.

Timar never left the estate he had rented until the winter frosts set

in, which stopped field-work for the season. But it was enough for the

present. The remaining acres would do for spring-sowing, or as fallows,

or for pasture. On the whole estate of thirty thousand acres there were

only a few hundred acres of meadow-land, all the rest was arable and of

the first class. If the next year should be favorable, the harvest would

be superabundant.

It was sown at exactly the right time. October remained dry and windy to

the end. Those who had sown before that might be sure of a bad crop, for

the legions of marmots had scratched out the seed before it sprung up.

Those who sowed during the wet November were no better off, for it had

snowed early, and in the warm ground, under the snow-covering, the seed

rotted; but when the snow had melted, a long mild spell set in which

lasted till Christmas. Whoever had sown then could congratulate himself;

the marmots were gone; frost now came before snow, and under the

beautiful white covering the treasure intrusted to the soil lay safely

hidden till spring. Farming is a game of chance. Six or nothing! Timar

threw six.

Then followed such a fruitful year that whoever had profited by the

favorable season in Banat received twenty-fold in crops.

In this year Timar brought thirty cargoes of the finest wheat to Komorn

and Raab, and these thirty had cost him no more than three to another

person. It depended on himself whether to make half a million of profit

or a hundred thousand more or less--either to make poor people's bread

cheaper, or to hold a knife to the throat of his competitors.

It lay with him to drive prices down as low as he chose. In Brazovics'

cafe there was angry talk every evening among the assembled

corn-dealers. He scatters money like chaff, and squanders his goods as

if they were stolen. If only he would come among them they would get him

by the throat!

But he does not come; he goes nowhere and seeks no acquaintances. He

takes care to tell no one what he is going to do, and all he undertakes

turns into gold. Many new industries are called into being by him, which

might have occurred to anyone else: they lay, so to speak, in the

street, and only wanted picking up; but they were only noticed by others

when this man had already got hold of them. He is always in movement,

traveling here and there, and people wonder why he goes on living in

this town; why he does not move to Vienna; why he, who is so rich, has

his headquarters in Komorn, though it was certainly then an important

commercial center.

Timar knows what keeps him there. He knows why he lives in a town where

all his mercantile colleagues are his sworn enemies, where the people

sitting before Brazovics' cafe send a curse after him every time he

passes. That house too he means to get into his clutches, with all that

therein is. This it was which kept him in Komorn, when already he was

the owner of a million and a half; he remained where they still called

him Timar, and had not got used to his noble title of Levetinczy.

Yet he knew how to suit noble deeds to his noble name. He founded an

hospital for the poor of the town, he endowed the Protestant schools;

even the chalice turned to gold in his hands. Instead of the silver one

he presented a golden one to the church. His door was always open to the

poor, and every Friday a long line of beggars went through the streets

to his house, where each received a piece of money, the largest copper

coin in existence, the so-called "schuster-thaler." People said that

when a sailor was drowned, Timar maintained his orphans and gave a

pension to his widow. A heart of gold indeed! A man of gold!

But in his heart a voice continually whispered, "It is not true! It is

all false!"

CHAPTER V.

A GIRL'S HEART.

Herr Brazovics usually drank coffee after dinner, and had it served in

the ladies' sitting-room, which he filled unmercifully with clouds of

Latakia tobacco.

Katschuka sat whispering with Athalie at a little table, at the corner

of which Frau Sophie pretended to be busy sewing. (For years this table

had been ostentatiously spread with needle-work and knitting, so that

visitors might imagine they were occupied with the trousseau.)

Herr Katschuka almost lived in the house; he came in the forenoon, was

pressed to stay to dinner, and only found his way home late in the

evening.

It would appear that the fortifications of Komorn were complete, as the

engineer officer had the whole day to spend with Fraulein Athalie. But

the fortifications of Herr Katschuka's own fortress could not hold out

any longer--the time was come for his marriage. He resisted like a

second Zriny. When driven from the outworks, he retreated to the

citadel. He always had some plausible pretext for delaying the marriage.

Now, however, the last mine had been exploded. His deposit was indorsed

by the Brazovics firm, and the council of war had accepted their receipt

instead of money down; a house had been found for the young couple, and

besides all this Katschuka had received his promotion to the rank of

captain. This removed his last excuse; the last cartridge of the

besieged had been expended, and nothing remained but to capitulate, and

take the rich and beautiful girl home.

Herr Brazovics became more and more venomous every day when he drank his

coffee with the ladies; and the man by whom his coffee was poisoned was

always Timar.

This was his daily _delenda est Carthago_.

"What confounded tricks that fellow is up to! While other honest dealers

are glad to rest in winter from their labors, he is busy with things

that no cat would think of. He has hired the Platten-See now, and fishes

under the ice: a little while ago his people caught three hundredweight

of fish in one haul. It is a theft! Before the spring comes he will have

cleared the Platten-See, so that not a single perch, not a shad nor a

roach, not a garfish, let alone a fogasch,[1] will be left in it. And

he sends them all to Vienna. As if that was what fogasch swam in the

Balaton lake for--that those Germans might eat them! The damned

scoundrel! The government ought to set a price on his head. Sooner or

later I will get rid of him, that's certain. When he goes over the

bridge I will get a couple of fishermen to throw him into the Danube; I

will pay a sentry a couple of gulden to shoot him by accident when he

passes in the dark; I'll turn a mad dog into his yard, that it may bite

him when he comes out in the morning. They ought to hang the rascal!

I'll set his house on fire, that he may burn with it! And they ennoble

such a fellow! In the town council they make him assessor, and the

good-for-nothing sits at the green table with me. I, whose grandfather

was of ancient Hungarian nobility, must suffer him near me, this runaway

rogue!

[Footnote 1: Leucia perca.]

"But just let him attempt to come near this cafe. I'll set a band upon

him who will throw him out of the window and break his neck! If ever I

sat down to table with him I would season his soup so that he would soon

be on his back like a dead fish! And this vagabond pays visits to

ladies! This Timar, this former supercargo, who used to be a mud-lark!

If he happened to be in the company of a brave officer who would call

him out, and spit him like a frog--so!"

Herr Brazovics threw a meaning glance on Herr Katschuka, who seemed as

if he had heard nothing. He had heard well enough; but what had

principally struck him in the monologue of his future father-in-law was

that the new millionaire must have made a great breach in the riches of

Herr Brazovics, and that this rage was caused by the threatened ruin of

the firm. A thought not calculated to increase the officer's joy at the

approaching wedding-day.

"No; I will not wait for some one else to get rid of him!" said

Brazovics at last, and stood up, laid aside his chibouque, and fetched

his bamboo cane from its corner. "I have a dagger. I bought it since the

fellow settled here, on purpose for him" (and that he might be believed

he drew the sharp blade out of his sword-stick). "There it is! The first

time we meet alone, I will stick it into him and nail him to the wall

like a bat. And that I swear!"

And he tried by rolling his bloodshot eyes to give emphasis to his

threat. He drank the rest of his coffee standing, drew on his overcoat,

and said he was going to business.

He would come home early (that is, early in the morning). Every one was

glad when he went.

Just as Herr Brazovics went carefully down the steps to the street--for

his corpulence prevented his running down-stairs--who should come to

meet him but--Timar!

Now is his chance; at striking distance, and in a dark place where no

one can see them. We know by history that most murders are committed on

the stairs. Timar had no weapon with him, not even a walking-stick; but

Herr Athanas had a stiletto two feet long.

When he saw Timar, he put his sword-stick under his arm, and cried aloud

as he took off his hat, "Your obedient servant! good-day to you, Herr

von Levetinczy!"

Timar answered with a "Servant, Nazi--off to business again?"

"He! he! he!" laughed Herr Brazovics jovially, like a boy who is caught

in a bit of mischief. "Now then, Michael, won't you keep us company?"

"Shouldn't think of it. If you want to win a couple of hundred gulden

from me, I had better pay them now; but to sit the whole night gambling

and drinking, no, thank you."

"He! he! he! Well, go up to the ladies then; they are upstairs. A

pleasant evening to you. I sha'n't see you again to-day."

And they parted with a hearty shake of the hand, for Herr Athanas does

not mean anything by his threats. No one is afraid of him, in spite of

his frightful voice and imposing appearance, not even his

wife--especially his wife. He knows well enough that Timar goes

regularly to his house, and arranges to be away when he comes. Frau

Sophie has not concealed her opinion that the visits are doubtless owing

to the fine eyes of Athalie. Well, that is Katschuka's affair: if he

does not spit his rival like a frog it is his own fault; he has been

warned. But he does not seem inclined to do it, though Timar and Athalie

are often together.

And why the devil should the captain challenge Timar? They are as good

friends as ever they were.

Herr Brazovics guessed--indeed he had means of knowing--that it was no

other than Captain Katschuka who had opened the door through which Timar

had attained his riches. Why he had done so was easy to imagine. He

wanted to get rid of Athalie, and it would suit him very well if

Brazovics intervened and forbid him the house.

But that was just what he did not do, but overflowed with tenderness for

the captain--his son-in-law. There was no way out of it: he must marry

Athalie. The captain has long been betrothed to Athalie, to whom a

dangerous rival pays daily court--a rich man whom he ought to hate,

because he left him in the lurch in the quarrel between the treasury and

the war office, and yet the captain is so fond of his old friend that he

is capable of forgiving him if he ran away with his bride.

Athalie despises Timar, once her father's clerk, but treats him

nevertheless in a friendly way. She is passionately in love with the

captain, but pays attention to Timar in his presence to make him

jealous.

Sophie hates Timar, but receives him with honeyed words, as if it were

her dearest wish to have him for her son-in-law, and live under the same

roof with him.

Timar, on the other hand, means to ruin the whole of them--the master,

the mistress, the young lady, and the bridegroom; all of them he would

like to turn into the street, and yet he visits at the house, kisses the

ladies' hands, and endeavors to make himself agreeable.

They are all civil to him. Athalie plays the piano to him. Frau Sophie

keeps him to supper, and offers him coffee and preserved fruits. Timar

drinks the coffee with the thought that perhaps there is rat-poison in

it.

When the supper-table is brought, Timea appears, and helps to lay it.

Then Timar hears no more of Athalie's words or music; he has eyes only

for Timea. It was a pleasure to see the pretty creature. She was fifteen

and already almost a woman, but her expression and naive awkwardness

were those of a child. She could speak Hungarian, though with a curious

accent, and sometimes with a wrong word or phrase--ridiculous, of

course, but not wholly unknown even in Parliament, and during the most

serious debates.

Athalie had made an acquisition in Timea: she had now some one to make

fun of. The poor child served her as a toy. She gave her old clothes to

wear which had been fashionable years ago. At one time people wore a

high comb turned backward, over which the hair was drawn, and on the top

rose a gigantic bow of colored ribbon. They wore crinoline round their

shoulders instead of their waists, having huge sleeves stuffed and

padded. This dress looked well when in fashion; but a few years after

the vogue had passed, its revival suggested a masquerade.

Athalie found it amusing to dress up Timea thus. In taste the poor

child, never having seen European fashions, stood on a par with a wild

Indian: the more remarkable the dress the better she liked it. She was

charmed when Athalie dressed her in the queer old silk gowns, and struck

the high comb and bright ribbon in her hair. She thought she looked

lovely, and took the smiles of the people whom she met in the street for

admiration, hastening on so as not to be stared at. In the town she was

always called "the mad Turkish girl."

And it was easy to make fun of her without her taking it ill. Athalie

took special delight in making the poor child an object of ridicule

before gentlemen. If young men were present, she encouraged them to pay

court to Timea, and it amused her highly when she saw that Timea

accepted these attentions seriously; how pleased she was to be treated

like a grown-up lady, to be asked to dance at balls, or when some

pretended admirer offered her a faded bouquet, and extracted some quaint

expression of thanks in reply, which caused the company to burst into

fits of laughter. How Athalie's laugh resounded on these occasions!

Frau Sophie took a more serious view of Timea. She scolded her

continually; all she did was wrong. Adopted children are often awkward,

and the more Timea was scolded the more awkward she became. Then

Fraulein Athalie defended her. "But, mamma, don't be always scolding the

girl! You treat her like a servant. Timea is not a servant, and I won't

have you always going on at her!"

Timea kissed Sophie's hand that she might cease to be angry, and

Athalie's out of gratitude for taking her part, and then the hands of

both that they might not quarrel. She was an humble, thankful creature.

Frau Sophie only waited till she had left the room to say to her

daughter what was on the tip of her tongue, in order that the other

guests, Timar and Katschuka, might hear. "We ought to get her used to

being a servant. You know her misfortune: the money which Timar--I mean

Herr von Levetinczy--saved for her was invested in an insurance

company. It has failed and the money is gone. She has nothing but what

she stands up in."

(So they have already brought her to beggary, thought Timar, and felt

his heart lighter, like a student who is let off a year before his

time.)

"It annoys me," said Athalie, "that she is so unimpressionable. You may

scold her or laugh at her, it is all the same. She never blushes."

"That is a peculiarity of the Greek race," remarked Timar.

"Nonsense!" said Athalie, contemptuously. "It is a sign of sickliness.

That artificial white complexion could be attained by any school-girl

who chose to eat chalk and burned coffee-berries."

She spoke to Timar, but looked toward Herr Katschuka. He, however, was

glancing at the large mirror in which one could see when Timea came

back. Athalie saw it, and it did not escape Timar's notice.

Timea now came in, carrying a large tray of clinking glasses, her whole

attention concentrated on preventing one from falling.

When Frau Sophie shrieked at her, "Take care not to drop them!" she did

let the whole tray fall. Fortunately the glasses fell on the soft

carpet, and did not break, but rolled about.

The mistress would have burst out in a storm, but Athalie silenced her

with the words, "That was your fault; why did you scream at her? Remain

here with me, Timea; the servant shall bring the coffee."

That made Sophie angry, and she went out and brought it all in herself.

But at the instant when Timea let the glasses fall, Katschuka, with

military promptitude, sprung up, collected the glasses, and put them all

on the tray, still held by Timea's trembling fingers. The girl cast a

grateful look on him out of her large dark eyes, which was seen by both

Athalie and Timar.

"Captain Katschuka," whispered Athalie to her _fiance_, "just for a joke

make the little thing fall in love with you; pretend to pay court to

her; it will be great fun. Timea, you sup with us to-night; come and sit

down here by the captain."

This might be a cruel joke, or perhaps scornful raillery; or was it an

ironical outbreak of awakened jealousy, or was it pure wickedness? We

shall see what comes of it.

With feverish excitement and ill-concealed delight, the girl sat down

opposite Athalie secure in conquering charms, who, while encouraging her

_fiance_ to pay compliments to Timea, did it like a queen who throws a

gold piece to a beggar. The child is made happy by the gift for a day,

and she herself does not feel its loss.

The captain offered the sugar-basin to Timea; she could not manage the

tongs.

"Take the sugar with your pretty little white hand," said he to the

girl, who was so confused that she put the lump into the tumbler instead

of the coffee cup. No one had ever told her that she had a pretty white

hand. These words remained on her mind, and she looked often privately

at her hands to see if they were really white and pretty. Athalie could

hardly suppress a smile. She found it amusing to carry on the

jest--"Timea, offer the cakes to the captain."

The girl lifted the glass dish from its silver stand, and handed it to

Katschuka.

"Now then, choose one for him."

By accident she chose one in the shape of a heart. She certainly did not

know that it represented a heart, nor what it meant.

"Oh, that is too much for me!" laughed the captain; "I can only take it,

if pretty Miss Timea divides it with me." And with that he broke the

heart in two and gave part to Timea.

The girl left it on her plate; she would not have eaten it for the

world. Jealously guarding it with her eyes, she did not wait till Frau

Sophie or the servant should change the plates, but hastened to remove

the dish of cakes herself and to vanish with them from the room. No

doubt she will keep this half-heart, and it will be found in her

possession. That will be droll! There is nothing easier than to turn the

head of a girl of fifteen, who takes everything in earnest and believes

the first man who tells her that she has pretty hands.

And Herr Katschuka was just the man not to forgive himself if he came

near a pretty girl without paying her attention. He paid court even to

older women; that he could do without scruple. But even to the

house-maid, when she lighted him to the door, he could not resist paying

compliments. His ambition was to make every girl's heart beat higher at

the sight of his blue uniform.

Still Athalie was certain that she was the ruling planet. But it was, of

course, worth his while to take a little trouble for Timea. She was only

a child; but one could see she would be a beauty. Then she was an

orphan, and a Turkish girl, not baptized, and not quite right in her

head--all reasons for flattering her without compunction. Herr Katschuka

let no chance escape him, and thereby gave great amusement to his bride.

One evening Athalie said to Timea, as she was going to bed, "I say,

Timea, the captain has proposed for you. Will you accept him?"

The child looked at Athalie quite frightened, ran to her couch, and drew

the covering over her head, so that no one should see her.

Athalie was highly entertained that the girl could not sleep on account

of these words--that she should toss restlessly on her bed, and sigh

wakefully all night. The delicate jest had succeeded.

The next day Timea was unusually quiet. She laid aside her childish

manner; thoughtful melancholy lay on her features; and she became

monosyllabic. The philter had done its work.

Athalie let the whole household into the secret. They were to treat

Timea henceforward as a future bride--as the betrothed of Herr

Katschuka. The servants, the mistress, all took part in the comedy.

Let no one say this was a heathenish jest; on the contrary, it was a

Christian one.

Athalie said to Timea:

"Here, see, the captain has sent you an engagement-ring; but you must

not put it on your finger as long as you are a heretic. You must first

become a Christian. Will you be baptized?"

Timea crossed her hands on her breast and bowed her head.

"Then you shall be baptized first. That this may be done, you must learn

the articles of faith, the catechism, the Bible history, psalms, and

prayers; you must go to the priest and to the schoolmaster to be

instructed. Will you do that?"

Timea only nodded. And now she went every day to be taught, with her

books under her arm like a little school-girl; and late at night, when

the rest were in bed, she went to the empty sitting-room, and sat half

the night learning by heart the ten plagues of Egypt, and the highly

moral histories of Samson and Delilah, Joseph and Potiphar's wife.

Learning was difficult to her, as she was not used to it. But what would

she not have done to be baptized?

"You see," said Athalie, often in Timar's presence, "without this hope

in her mind we should never have induced her to be converted and to

study in order to be baptized."

So it was quite a pious work to turn the child's head, and make her

fancy she was already betrothed. And Timar must look on at the cruel

trick played on the girl without moving a finger to prevent it. What

could he say? She would never understand. And his coming to the house

made it worse, for it justified the fable in her eyes. She was often

told that the rich Herr von Levetinczy visited them on Athalie's

account, which seemed to her quite natural. The rich man woos a rich

girl. They suit each other. Who should suit the poor Hungarian officer

better than the poor daughter of a Turkish officer? Nothing more

natural. She studied day and night, and when she had finished with the

catechism and the psalter, they found a new trick to play upon her. They

said the wedding-day was fixed, but there was still much to be done to

the trousseau. On account of the dresses, linen, and other details, the

day could not be a very early one. And then her wedding-dress! That the

bride herself must embroider. This is also a Turkish custom and suited

Timea, who knew how to work beautifully in gold and silver, for the

harems are all instructed in that art.

She was given Athalie's dress, in order to execute upon it the beautiful

designs which had been taught her at home. Of course they told her it

was her own. Timea drew lovely arabesques upon it, and began to

embroider them. A perfect masterpiece grew under her fingers; she worked

at it from early morning till late evening, and did not even lay it

aside when visitors came, with whom she conversed without looking up,

and that was fortunate, as then she could not see how they made fun of

her. Timar, who had to look on at all this, often left the house with

such bitterness in his heart that he struck the two marble pillars at

the door with all his force. He would have liked to do as Samson did,

and pull the house of the Philistines down on his head.

How long will he allow it to stand?

The day to which Timea looked forward with secret alarm was really fixed

for Herr Katschuka's marriage--but with Fraulein Athalie. Only that

various hinderances stood in the way of its arrival. Not in the stars,

nor in the hearts of the lovers, but in the financial position of Herr

Brazovics.

When the captain asked Athanas for his daughter's hand, he told him

plainly that he could only marry if the wife's dowry was sufficient to

keep house upon.

Herr Brazovics made no objection. He was not going to be stingy about

it: he meant to give his daughter a hundred thousand gulden on her

wedding-day, and they could do as they liked with it. And at the time

when he made this promise, he was in a position to carry it out. But

since then Timar had put a spoke in his wheel. He had in many ways

thrown Herr Brazovics' speculations into confusion, upset his safest

combination, run him up in the corn-market, outbid him in contracts, and

barred his road to influential quarters where before he had had

interest, so that it was no longer possible to pay the dowry down. It

was well known that his affairs were in confusion, and whoever had a

claim to his money would be wise to ask for it to-day rather than

to-morrow.

And Herr Katschuka was a wise man.

His future father-in-law tried to persuade him that it would be much

better to leave the money at interest with him; but the engineer would

not allow his last redoubt to be taken. He charged the mines, and

threatened to blow the whole marriage citadel into the air if he did not

have the money down before the wedding-day.

Then a brilliant idea shot into the head of Athanas. Why not marry

Athalie to Timar? The exchange would not be a bad one. It is true that

he hated him and would like to poison him in a spoonful of soup. But if

he married Athalie his opposition would cease, he would be a member of

the firm and have its interests at heart.

Timar comes to the house regularly--if only he were not so modest! He

must be helped.

One afternoon Herr Athanas poured a double dose of anisette into his

black coffee (a capital way of encouraging one's self), and had it

brought into his office, giving orders that if Timar came, the ladies

were to send him into his room.

There he lighted his chibouque, and surrounded himself with such an

atmosphere of smoke, that as he walked up and down he appeared and

disappeared alternately, with his great starting, bloodshot eyes, like a

huge cuttle-fish lying in wait for its prey.

The prey did not keep him waiting long.

As soon as Timar heard from Frau Sophie that Athanas wished to speak to

him, he hastened to his room. The great cuttle-fish swam toward him

through the smoke, with his horrible fishy eyes fixed upon him, and fell

upon him just like the sea-monster, while he cried, "Listen to me, sir;

what is the meaning of your visits to this house? What are your

intentions with regard to my daughter?"

That is the best way to bring these poltroons to their senses; they get

startled, their head swims, and before they can turn round they fall

into the net of holy matrimony. It is no joke to answer such a question

as that.

The first thing Timar remarked from the speech of Herr Athanas was that

he had again taken too much anisette. Thence this courage.

"Sir," he replied, quietly, "I have no intentions whatever with regard

to your daughter. So much the less because your daughter is engaged,

and the bridegroom is a good old friend of mine. I will tell you why I

come to your house. If you had not asked me, I should have kept silence

longer, but as you inquire I will tell you. I visit your house because I

swore to your dead friend and kinsman, who came to such a dreadful end,

that I would look after his orphan child. I come here to see how the

orphan committed to your care was treated. She is shamefully treated,

Herr Brazovics, disgracefully! I say it to your face in your own house.

You have made away with the whole of the girl's property--defrauded her;

yes, that is the word. And your whole family carries on a shameful game

with the poor child. Her mind is being poisoned for her whole life. May

God's curse light on you for it! And now, Herr Brazovics, we two have

met for the last time in your house, and you had better pray that you

may never see the day when I come into it again."

Timar turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him. The

cuttle-fish drew back into the dusky depths of its smoky lair, poured

down another glass of anisette, and considered that some answer ought to

have been given. But what?

For my own part I don't know what he could have said.

Timar went back to the reception-room, not only to get his hat, which he

had left there, but for something else.

In the room there was no one but Timea; Athalie and her _fiance_ were in

the next room.

In Timar's face, flushed with anger, Timea saw a great change. His

generally soft and gentle countenance looked proud, and was roused into

emotion which made it beautiful. Many faces are beautified by passion's

flame.

He went straight to Timea, who was working golden roses and silver

leaves on the bridal dress.

"Fraulein Timea," he said to her in deeply moved tones, "I come to take

leave of you. Be happy, remain a child for a long time; but if ever an

hour comes in which you are unhappy, do not forget that there is some

one who would--for you--"

He could not speak, his voice failed, his heart contracted. Timea

completed the interrupted phrase--"Thrice!"

He pressed her hand and stammered brokenly, "Always."

Then he bowed and went, without troubling those in the next room.

No "God be with you!" came from his lips. At this moment he was only

conscious of the wish that God would withdraw His hand from this house.

Timea let the work fall, and gazed before her, sighing again, "Thrice!"

The gold thread slipped out of the needle's eye.

As Timar went down the path, he came once more to the two marble pillars

which supported the veranda. With what rage he struck them! Did those

above feel the shock! Did not the tottering walls warn them to pray,

because the roof was falling in on them?

But they were laughing at the mystified child, who worked so diligently

at her wedding-dress.

CHAPTER VI.

ANOTHER JEST.

The newly ennobled Herr von Levetinczy was already, not only in Hungary

but in Vienna, a famous person. He was said to be a "golden man."

Everything he touched turned to gold, all he undertook became a gold

mine; and this is the real gold mine.

The science of the gold digger consists in finding out earlier than his

rivals what large affairs are in contemplation by the government; and in

this art Timar was a past master. If he took up any speculation, a whole

swarm of speculators threw themselves upon it, for they knew money was

to be had there for the picking up.

But it was not only on that account that Timar was called a "golden

man," but also for quite another reason.

He never swindled or defrauded any one.

He made large profits, for he undertook large concerns, but he was never

tempted to steal or lie, for he never risked anything. He shared the

profit with those on whom it depended whether he received a contract on

reasonable terms, and in this way kept the source always open.

Once he began to buy up vineyards on the Monostor, the highest point of

Komorn. It is a sandhill lying above Uj-Szony, and its wines are very

poor. But notwithstanding this, Timar bought ten acres of vine-growing

land there.

This excited attention in the commercial world. What could he want with

it? There must be some sort of gold mine there.

Herr Brazovics thought he was on the right track, and attacked Katschuka

on his own ground. "Now, my dear son, tell me the truth; I swear by my

soul and my honor that I will not betray it to a creature. Confess now,

the government is going to build fortifications on the Monostor? That

fellow Timar is buying up all the land: don't let us leave him the whole

mouthful. It is so, isn't it--they are going to build a fort there?"

The captain allowed the acknowledgment to be got out of him that there

might be something in it. The council of war had decided to extend the

fortifications of Komorn in that direction. There could be no better

news for Athanas. How many hundred thousand gulden had he made in

similar circumstances by buying hovels before the expropriation, and

selling them afterward to the government at the price of palaces? Only

he would certainly like to have seen the plans, and begged his future

son-in-law as prettily as possible to let him have just one peep at

them.

Katschuka did him that favor too, and thus Athanas learned what portion

would be bought by government. And that wretch of a Timar had really

pitched on the place where the fort was to be built.

"And what are to be the terms of the expropriation?"

That was the question, and that the captain could not reveal without

committing a capital crime. But he did it. The terms were, that the

government would pay double the last purchase money.

"Now I know enough," cried Herr Athanas, embracing his son-in-law; "the

rest is my affair. On your wedding-day the hundred thousand gulden will

be on your table."

But he was wrong in thinking that he knew enough. He would have done

well to ask one more question. Herr Katschuka, after saying so much,

would have told him that too. But Katschuka no longer cared much about

the hundred thousand gulden, nor yet about what depended on them. It he

gets them, all right; if not, his hair will not turn gray for lack of

them.

Brazovics hurried off to Uj-Szony, and went to all the vine-growers to

ask who had a vineyard to sell. He paid whatever was asked, and if any

one refused to sell, he offered treble the price. The more he paid the

better for him. Naturally this attracted the attention of other

speculators, who arrived in troops and ran up the prices, so that the

poor "Honigler" and "Schafschwanz" wines of Monostor could not

understand why they had suddenly turned into "Grands Crus," to be bought

up even before the vintage.

The price of vineyards ran so high, that the land for which the

government would have had to pay, before the plans were betrayed, at

most one hundred thousand gulden, now could not be bought under five

hundred thousand.

Brazovics had himself bought a fifth of them, though he had the greatest

difficulty in getting the money together. He got rid of his stock of

grain, sold his ships, borrowed from the usurers, and made use of

trust-money committed to his care. This time he was safe! Timar was in

the swim. He was the worst off, for he had bought cheap and would make a

very small profit.

But this, too, was perfidy on Timar's part. It was a _coup_ aimed at the

head of Herr Brazovics. He had learned from Katschuka the one thing

Athanas had omitted to ask. It was true that the government would this

year greatly enlarge the fortifications; but the question was, Where

would they begin? For the work would extend over thirty years.

Here again Timar had done his rivals a bad turn, which would bring their

maledictions down on him. As a good business man, he took care, whenever

he had undertaken anything which would bring him curses, to set

something else to work for which many more would bless him. So that

between blessing and cursing he might keep a good balance on the credit

side.

He sent for Johann Fabula and said to him, "Johann, you are getting old;

many hardships have aged you. Would it not be better to look out for

some employment which will allow you to rest?"

Fabula was already hoarse, and when he spoke it sounded as if he was

whispering to the actors from the prompter's box.

"Yes, sir; I have often thought of leaving the sea and looking out for

work on shore; my eyes are weak. I wish you would give me a stewardship

on your land."

"I know of something better than that. You would never get on with the

Rascians; you are too much used to the white bread at Komorn. Much

better turn farmer."

"I should like it well enough; but there are two things wanting--the

land and the stock."

"Both will come in time. I have an idea: the old pastures by the river

are for sale--go to the auction and buy them all."

"Oh," said Fabula, with a hoarse laugh, "I should be a fool indeed! It

is a waste where nothing grows but camomile. Shall I sell it to the

chemists? And it's a large piece of land; one would want several

thousand gulden."

"Don't argue, but do as I tell you. Just you go there. Here are the two

thousand gulden for the deposit, which you must hand in at the auction.

Then bid till it is knocked down to you, and take it all at the price

agreed on. Share with no one, whoever offers to go into partnership with

you. I will lend you the money to pay for it, and you shall repay me

when you are able. I ask no interest, and you need not give me a

receipt. The whole bargain shall be a verbal one. There now, shake hands

on it!"

Johann Fabula shook his head thoughtfully. "No interest, no writing, a

lump of money, and bad waste land! The end of it will be, that I shall

be arrested and stripped to my shirt."

"No scruples, my friend; you have it for a year, and whatever you get

off it meanwhile will be entirely yours."

"But what shall I plow and sow with?"

"You will neither plow nor sow. But go and do what I told you--the

harvest will not be wanting; but do not tell any one."

Fabula was in the habit of looking on all that Timar did or said as

folly _a priori_; but nevertheless he acted with absolute obedience on

his orders, for _a posteriori_ he had been forced to acknowledge that

these unheard-of follies had the same result as if they had been wisdom

personified. So he did as Timar had advised.

And now we will let the reader into the secret of these singular

proceedings. The plan for the fortification did really exist. But it had

been suggested to the council by some busybody that it was not necessary

to execute all the sections at once, and that it would be sufficient for

the present to expropriate the land lying between the two arms of the

river, while the portion covered by the Monostor vineyards could wait

twenty years. Now the speculators who got wind of the new plans had all

thrown themselves on the sandhill, and no one thought of the shore

between the two river branches. Herr Fabula got it for twenty thousand

gulden. The land on the Monostor would not be wanted for twenty years to

come, and during that time the money invested in the unproductive

vineyards would all be eaten up by the interest. This was a trick played

by Timar especially for the benefit of Herr Athanas Brazovics; and as

soon as he had bought the Monostor vineyards, Timar set every lever in

motion to prevent the council of war from beginning the fortifications

on all points at the same time.

Affairs were in this position three days before the time fixed for

Athalie's wedding.