His Excellency, Prince John KemÉny, was meantime tarrying mid sport and pleasure in Hermanstadt. This good lord had a perfect passion for eating, and would not have given up his dinner if the last spoke in the last wheel of the state carriage had been broken. Among his counsellors his cook stood first. The entire town-hall was at his disposal and had been taken possession of by his attendants. In the courtyard spur-clanking cuirassiers amused themselves with Transylvanian-Saxon serving-women. A few German musketeers stationed on guard, had leaned their weapons against the gate-post and entered into friendly relations with the boys who were carrying the food away from the table, at the same time singing with merriment Hungarian songs quickly picked up, and dancing as they sang. On the other hand, the Hungarian guards were sitting in their yellow cloaks with green fastenings, leaning silently against the wall. They gave no heed to the tankards of wine set in their hands, except to pour them down at a single draught and return the mighty cup to the friendly butler. The latter could hardly hold himself up—smiled at all, the happy and the unhappy, and marched off backward to the cook, who, carrying everything on high, now brought in on a silver dish a great tart decked with flowers and sugar, representing the Tower of Babel; and again a huge porcelain bowl, from which came the spicy fragrance of a hot punch; and again a great wooden platter, on which rested a whole roast peacock in all his plumage. With difficulty could he make his way across the courtyard with his amazing burdens, for the crowds had gathered there for the adjustment of their affairs, and were waiting until the prince should leave the table. Meantime they got wine, roasts and pastry; everything except what they came for—justice.

In the banquet-hall were the lords and ladies, all somewhat mellow with drink. The meal had lasted some time and was still far from finished. French cookery seemed to have reserved its most wonderful products for this princely feast. The three natural kingdoms had been taxed to tickle the palates of men. Everything considered appetizing and extraordinary, from the days of Lucullus down to the time of the French gourmand, had been brought together there. All kinds of native and foreign wines were taken from great silver coolers and poured into richly cut and colored Venetian glasses. The rarest game, cooked in all sorts of ways, was set out on silver dishes; then followed transparent, rosy, quivering jellies, preserved fruits from the Indies, ragouts of cocks' combs, delicacies made of snails, lobsters and rare sea fish, dishes that the guests could only by the wildest fancy imagine appetizing, after they were already sated with what was good; artichokes, oysters, turtles, the enjoyment of which I should, for my part, count a punishment, great pasties and rose-stained swans' eggs in large baskets, which the guests, by way of diversion could cook for themselves over a small spirit lamp placed before each one. Finally came countless other wonderful dishes, the names of which would be hardly recognizable by ordinary mortals and in abundance sufficient for six times as many guests. There were all kinds of spicy drinks to suit the taste of each one. Behind each guest was stationed a page, who as soon as the guest turned his head, immediately removed his full plate and gave him a clean one.

Behind the Prince stood the son of Ladislaus Csaki, who was proud that his son might fill the glass of the Prince, and the Prince needed to have it filled frequently. The Transylvanian feasters were wont to close their banquets by drinking each other down for a wager. John KemÉny now called on the brave spirits for the wonted contest. Most of the guests declined the challenge. The sober ones expressed their thanks for the honor and excused themselves; only three took up the challenge. The first was Wenzinger, leader of the German troops, the second was Paul Beldi, general of the Szeklers and supreme judge of the court at Haromszek, a fine-looking man; his noble brow indicated rest, his gentle eyes were brightened a little by the wine, his silent lips opened in a smile; otherwise no effect of the drinking was to be seen. Opposite him was the third contestant, Dionysius Banfy, captain of the train bands at Klausenburg and general of the troops, a medium sized, broad shouldered, haughty man, with a touch of unbecoming affectation in his aristocratic countenance.

John KemÉny was seated at the upper end of the table and at either side sat the wives of Banfy and Beldi. One of them, Banfy's wife, was a young woman barely twenty years old, who since her sixteenth year had been under the dominion of her husband. She hardly dared to raise her eyes, or if she did it was only to turn them to her husband. On the other side sat Beldi's wife, between her husband and the Prince; hers was still a dazzling beauty like that of a white rose, and now lighted up by the cheer of the feast, the healthy color seemed fairly to burn. There was an eloquent charm in her eyebrows, and when she let fall her lashes over her burning eyes her look was fascinating. Bethlen's wife at the opposite end of the table talked openly of the coquettish woman who had a marriageable daughter and yet dared appear with open bodice; but this gave all the more pleasure to the Prince, not less to the impetuous Banfy, and even to the gentle husband, who worshipped his wife.

The wager had electrified all the men, so that the music which sounded from the gallery throughout the feast now began to chime in with songs, when Gabriel Haller entered and hurrying to the Prince, whispered a few words to him with a serious look. KemÉny stared at him, then emptied the glass in his hand and laughed loudly.

"Tell the news to the company that they too may know," he called out to Haller.

He hesitated.

"Out with it; you could hardly say anything more entertaining. Set your music to it, up there. It is a great joke."

The men all urged Haller to share his joke with them. "It is quite unimportant," said the man, with a shrug, "Ali Pasha has raised Michael Apafi to be Prince."

"Ha, ha, ha!"—The laughter went round the table. The Prince turned with absurd affectation first to one and then to another of the company. "Does any one of you know this man? Has anybody ever heard of him before?"

Banfy's wife clung with blanched face to her husband's arm, while he, leaning his elbows on the table said, not without annoyance; "I am a distant connection of the poor wretch. In fact, he married a relative of my wife. He was a long time in slavery to the Tartars, and the Turks, who are now angry with us, have undoubtedly set him free on condition that he should allow himself to be made prince. He must have lost his wits entirely."

Again the men laughed loudly.

"We will crown him at once," said KemÉny, sarcastically, throwing back his head.

"That has been done already," said Haller.

"Where? By whom?" questioned the good-natured Prince, with contracted brow.

"In Klein-Selyk, by the State Convention."

KemÉny indicated by a motion of the hand and uplifted eyebrow that he did not fully understand this reply.

"Who was present? Surely all the men of importance in the country are here with us."

"There were present Stephen Apafi, Nalaczy, Daczo and others, a couple of hundred Szekler nobility."

"Well, we will count them up as soon as we are through with other affairs," said the Prince, contemptuously. "Give Gabriel Haller a chair."

"They are not waiting for us, but are already coming against us; they are in Schassburg now."

"I suppose they will drive us out,—Michael Apafi with his two hundred Szeklers," said KemÉny, laughing.

Wenzinger now arose and said in soldierly fashion; "Does your Highness wish me to have the army called together? we have eight thousand armed men. If it pleases your Highness, we will scatter these people so completely that there will be no two men left standing together."

"Keep quiet," replied KemÉny, who looked down with contempt upon the whole business. "Sit down and drink. Let them come nearer, why should we take the trouble to go to them? we can certainly take them, bag and baggage.—I am sorry, Dionysius Banfy, that this man is a connection of yours, but out of consideration for you I will see to it that he is not broken on the wheel; I'll have him—stuffed."

This hit of KemÉny's was received with roars of laughter.

"Bring a glass for Gabriel Haller, we will go on with our wager. Play the rest of that interrupted music."

Again the music rang out. The gypsy band played a Czardas. The men clinked their glasses and sang to the music. The servants outside joined in. The emptied glasses flew against the wall; there was not one among them who could not have dashed his glass in a thousand pieces except Gabriel Haller, who had come last and was still sober, ashamed to smash the costly Venetian glass.

"Break it against the table so the pieces will fly," thundered the Prince at him, and Haller, in obedience to his Prince, struck the glass lightly against the table and snapped the stem, and then bowed with respectful humility before his master.

Madame Banfy sighed as she thought of her kinsfolk. Her husband, to prevent any one's thinking that he was in the least concerned in the affair, jumped from his seat and amid the sounds of the Czardas invited the beautiful Madame Beldi to dance. The little lady was ready. Banfy grasped the beauty about her waist, held her firmly and whirled her around. The excited woman flew with the lightness of a fairy on the arm of her partner. With that, the rest of the men jumped from their places, seized other women for a dance, and soon the entire company was swept away in fantastic revelry, every one clapping, dancing and shouting. Banfy was hot-blooded and light-headed; he loved beautiful women, and now in addition there was the glow of the wine. When his beautiful partner once more hung on his arm, her glowing cheeks came so near him that he suddenly so far forgot himself as to press the bewitching woman passionately to his heart and imprint a hot kiss on her cheek. Madame Beldi cried out and pushed the bold man from her. Banfy, also startled at what he had done, cast a glance about him but everybody was so taken up with his own pleasure that, to all appearances, neither kiss nor cry had been noticed. However, Madame Beldi angrily left her partner, and when Banfy stammered out an apology, indicated to him that he should stay at a distance.

This kiss was to cost Banfy dear one of these days. Nobody had noticed it except the man whom it most concerned,—the husband. Beldi's eye had seen it. Let not anybody think that a husband who loves is not jealous. Even if he acts as if he had not seen, had not heard, he sees and hears and notices everything. He had indeed seen Banfy kiss his wife, although he acted as if he did not notice the confusion of his wife who, all excited, sought her husband. He took her hand and led her from the hall. Once outside he bade her make ready for a journey. "Where are we going?" asked his wife, quivering with excitement.

"Home to Bodola."

Of all the guests Dionysius Banfy alone noticed that two had vanished from the hall.