The lawyer for the defence interrupted him with the words: "You are not asked for a certificate of good conduct!" and the judge admonished him to keep to the point.
The gardener, unintimidated, added that Herr von Abonyi had first inflicted bodily abuse on the cartwright, who was not his employee, and the latter then threatened him or rather defended himself.
The judge asked if he had seen this.
"No," replied the witness, "but Janos saw it and told me."
Janos was recalled and confronted with the gardener. He could remember nothing about it.
The examination was continued. The gardener testified that Pista had been willing to submit to arrest, but would not allow himself to be handcuffed, for which, moreover, not the semblance of necessity had existed. Besides, Herr von Abonyi had had an evil intention when he sent for the revolver, for he asked expressly for the one lying on the table by the bed, and the whole parish knew that this weapon was always loaded. So it was false that Herr von Abonyi supposed he held an unloaded pistol in his hand.
The judge addressed his last question to the witness: "Did you see the defendant fire the weapon intentionally?"
The gardener replied that no one could have seen that, except a person who stood directly beside the criminal and watched his finger closely; he could only say that Herr von Abonyi kept the weapon constantly aimed, and his finger on the trigger, so that he, the gardener, had involuntarily thought that some mischief would happen, and that the shot was fired at the precise moment when Pista raised the pitchfork against the servant, who was pressing upon him.
The lawyer for the defence rose and informed the court that the witness was a servant whom Abonyi had discharged.
"I was discharged after I gave the same testimony at the preliminary examination which I have given to-day," observed the gardener quietly.
"Speak only when the court questions you!" said the judge reprovingly; then he whispered a short time with his companions in office, and finally announced that the last witness would not be sworn.
The gardener looked at the judge in bewilderment and returned to his place among the audience.
The prosecuting attorney now began his speech. He censured Abonyi for sending for the revolver, and the command to handcuff the refractory man seemed to him to show over-zeal and somewhat unjustifiable severity; there was no ground to believe that murder was intended, yet the defendant had committed a grave offence when, yielding to an absurd notion, he had deemed it proper to threaten the cartwright with a fire-arm. He would therefore propose to sentence Abonyi for homicide through negligence to—six months' imprisonment.
Abonyi’s lawyer tried to show that the revolver had not been superfluous, since it was necessary to inspire a furious man, who was threatening deeds of violence, with salutary terror, and thereby restrain him from excesses. As parish-magistrate, it was Abonyi’s duty to oppose the cartwright, and when the latter scorned and rebelled against the authorities, Abonyi had been fully justified in compelling the cartwright to respect his orders, even by forcibly handcuffing him. For the unfortunate accident which resulted in the loss of a human life, Abonyi could not be held responsible, and he therefore requested the acquittal of his client.
The prosecuting attorney replied that it was not fully proved that Molnar had been so refractory that handcuffing was indispensable; but he would admit that it was necessary to maintain the dignity of the magistracy energetically, in the midst of a turbulent, insubordinate populace.
Abonyi’s lawyer answered that, instead of making any rejoinder, he had only one thing to say: his client would engage to provide for the unfortunate Molnar’s widow by giving her a large piece of land and also settling upon her an annual income, legally secured, of four hundred florins.
A murmur of approval ran through the audience, suppressed by a stern command from the judge. After a short whispered consultation, during which the defendant was not even led out of the court-room, the judge pronounced the sentence, that the defendant, for the homicide through negligence of Stefan Molnar, was condemned to six months imprisonment; any claims for compensation from those entitled to demand them were reserved and could be brought before the civil courts. The prosecuting attorney declared himself satisfied with the sentence, as his proposal had been fully accepted; the lawyer for the defence exchanged whispers a moment with the condemned man, and then also said that he would give up the appeal to a higher tribunal; the judge closed the proceedings, and Abonyi went out through the door by which he had entered, while the man with the cap followed respectfully.
When the gardener came out of the courtroom he saw Panna standing in the corridor, where she had been waiting since her expulsion from the court-room. Hurrying up to him, she asked with an anxious look, "Well?"
"Sentenced!" replied the gardener, turning his head away.
"Ah!" A low cry escaped her breast and her eyes sparkled. "Sentenced! And when?"
The gardener gazed at her inquiringly.
"What do you mean by when?"
"Why, when will he be—executed?"
"Executed? you are out of your mind. He is sentenced to six months' imprisonment."
Meanwhile they had gone down into the courtyard; at the gardener’s words Panna suddenly stood still, stared fixedly at him, and said in a hollow tone:
"You know how I am, and what I feel, why do you jest so unpleasantly with me?"
"What I tell you is the most bitter earnest."
"Man! Six months! You are drivelling! That is impossible! A man who has murdered another can be acquitted, it may be said that he did not kill him, that the guilt was not proved, I understand that; but when it is admitted that he is guilty, he surely cannot be sentenced to six months' imprisonment! That is a mockery of mankind. My brother strikes a brutal officer—he is executed; the vine-dresser’s Bandi burns a miserable barn—he is executed. This man kills a human being and gets six months' imprisonment. No, I cannot believe it."
The gardener contented himself with silently shrugging his shoulders in reply to the woman’s passionate outburst of feeling, and pursued his way. Panna followed him with compressed lips. She could not help believing his communication, but she continually revolved it in her mind, still unable to comprehend its meaning fully. They were seated in the carriage again, and had driven a considerable distance, when she began once more:
"There are higher courts. It cannot be left so."
"No one entered an appeal, so the case will not go to the higher courts."
"Then you think that this six months is the last utterance of justice?"
"The last, Panna; only the king or God can still change the sentence."
Panna’s eyes flashed.
"The king can change the sentence, you say?"
"He, of course," replied her companion laconically.
Panna said nothing more on the way home. Only the gardener once heard her murmur:
"Justice is a fine thing, a very fine thing."
CHAPTER VI.
It was late in the evening when Panna again reached Kisfalu. Her father was already expecting her with great impatience and, before she left the carriage, shouted a question about the result of the trial. Panna did not answer immediately, but cautiously descended, gratefully pressed the hand of the gardener, who had brought her to her own house, and entered the room with her father. Here she opened her lips for the first time, uttering only the words: "Six months!"