had not lied. His fingers clutched her wrist like a pair of glowing
tongs, so that she cried out with the pain.

"The master!" Bogdan bellowed. "What has the master got to do between
you and me? Yes or no? I want an answer. The master has nothing to do
with us."

Marcsa drew herself up. All of a sudden a remarkable assurance came to
her. The color returned to her cheeks, and her eyes flashed proudly. She
stood there with the haughty bearing so familiar to Bogdan, her head
held high in defiance.

Bogdan observed the change and saw that her gaze traveled over his
shoulder. He let go her hand and turned instantly. Just what he thought
--the master coming out of the machine shop. His old forester, Toth,
followed him.

Marcsa bounded past Bogdan like a cat and ran up to the lord and bent
over and kissed his hand.

Bogdan saw the three of them draw near and lowered his head like a ram
for attack. A cold, determined quiet rose in him slowly, as in the
trenches when the trumpeter gave the signal for a charge. He felt the
lord's hand touch his shoulder, and he took a step backward.

What was the meaning of it all? The lord was speaking of heroism and
fatherland, a lot of rubbish that had nothing to do with Marcsa. He let
him go on talking, let the words pour down on him like rain, without
paying any attention to their meaning. His glance wandered to and fro
uneasily, from the lord to Marcsa and then to the forester, until it