When she opened her eyes, she saw a policeman standing before her, shaking her and asking what she was doing here. Panna was terribly startled for a moment, but she quickly regained her presence of mind, and said:
"My husband is in the jail and will be released early in the morning; so I came here to wait for him."
"Why, my dear woman, you can’t stay here," replied the policeman; "find a night’s lodging, and in the morning you can be here in ample time to meet your husband."
"Oh, do let me stay here, I don’t know anybody in the city, where am I to go now in the night, it will surely be morning in two or three hours," pleaded Panna, at the same time drawing from her pocket a florin, one of the last she had left, which she slipped into the hand of the guardian of order. After this argument the latter evidently discovered that it would be no very serious crime if a beautiful young woman waited in front of the jail, on a warm, moon-lit night in May, for her husband’s release, for, with an incomprehensible mutter, he pursued his round, on which, during the next two hours, he repeatedly passed Panna without troubling himself any farther about her.
All fatigue had now left the watcher and, after this disturbance, she did not close her eyes a second time. She was once more calm and strong, and constantly repeated in her mind that she was about to do a good, needful work, pleasing to God. The moon had set, it was growing noticeably cool, day was dawning in the east; she shivered, a slight tremor ran through her whole frame, yet she remained motionless on her stone seat. Gradually the light grew brighter and brighter, the great city gave the first signs of awakening, a few sleepy-looking people began to pass with echoing footsteps through the street, now and then a carriage drove by, the matin bells pealed from the church steeples, and the first rays of the rising sun flooded the roofs of the surrounding houses with ruddy gold. Just at that moment a carriage rolled around the corner, drove in a sharp curve to the door of the jail, and stopped. Panna pressed farther back into her niche and hid her face in her shawl. She had recognized Janos and an open carriage owned by Abonyi.
The driver, who had not noticed the dark figure between the pillars, sprang from his box, blanketed the steaming horses, and gave them some bags of oats. Meanwhile the door of the jail had opened, for it was five o’clock; a heiduck came out, yawning and stretching, and asked Janos:
"For whom are you waiting so early, Brother?"'
"For my master, Herr von Abonyi, who will come presently."
"Yes, yes, you are to fetch his lordship; well, if you wish, I’ll go in and tell the gentleman that you’re here."
"Do, we’ll get away sooner."
The man vanished inside the building and Janos busied himself industriously with his horses, while whistling a little song. It was not ten minutes before steps and voices were heard in the doorway. Janos raised his cap, called: "At your service," and sprang on the box. Two men appeared on the threshold, both looking as though they had been up all night—Abonyi and the steward.
"Cordial thanks and farewell till you see me in Kisfalu!" cried Abonyi, shaking hands with his companion.
"Good-bye until then! And in Kisfalu I’ll give you revenge for the trifle you lost to-night."
"If my coachman hadn’t come so early, I would have won it all back again."
"Why," said the steward, "if you feel inclined, you can come back and play on comfortably."
"Thank you, I’ve had quite enough of your hospitality for the present," replied Abonyi, and both laughed heartily, after which they again shook hands with each other.
The steward, who was shivering, turned back, and Abonyi prepared to get into the carriage. At the moment when he had one foot on the step and was half swinging in the air, without any firm hold, Panna sprang out, threw her whole weight upon Abonyi, dragged him to the ground with her, and, almost while falling, with the speed of lightning struck him repeatedly in the breast with a long, sharp, kitchen knife, which she had had in her bosom.
All this had been the work of a few instants. Abonyi had scarcely had time to utter a cry. Janos sat mute with bewilderment on the box, staring with dilated eyes at the two figures on the ground; the steward turned at the shriek and stood as though spell-bound by the spectacle which presented itself. Abonyi lay gasping, with his blood pouring from several wounds; Panna had straightened herself and, throwing down the bloody knife, stood quietly beside her victim. Instantly a great outcry arose, Janos sprang from the carriage and went to the assistance of his unconscious and evidently dying master, the steward rushed up to Panna and grasped her by the arm, which she permitted without resistance, a number of heiducks appeared, Panna was dragged into the doorway, and a flood of curses and threats was poured upon her. While Abonyi was carried into the guard-room under the entrance and laid on a wooden-table, where he drew his last breath before a physician could be summoned, a multitude of violent hands dragged Panna, amid fierce abuse, into the courtyard, while the steward shouted loudly:
"Lads! Bring chains for this monster! Chains I say, put irons on her hands and feet."
Then Panna who, hitherto, had not opened her lips, cried in a resonant voice, while a strange smile hovered about her quivering lips:
"Why, my dear sir, how long have you used chains? Wouldn’t you rather play a game of cards with me?"
The steward’s face flushed scarlet, he shrieked a few orders to his men in a shrill tone, and rushed back into the guard-room to Abonyi.
Panna was shoved rather than led down the steps of a flight of cellar stairs and thrust into a dark, stifling cell, where handcuffs were put on. During this proceeding, she made many sneering speeches:
"Give me a handsomely furnished room, too, like the one the nobleman had! And who will wait on me here?"
"Silence, witch!" cried the heiduck who was chaining her. "The executioner will wait on you when he makes you a head shorter."
"The executioner? Fool, what nonsense you are talking! No executioner will touch me. At the utmost I shall get three months imprisonment. If six months is the sentence given for the murder of an innocent man, surely one can’t get more than three for killing a murderer."
At last Panna was left alone and the iron doors of her cell closed with an echoing sound. The crime naturally created the utmost excitement in the county jail; officials and employees talked of nothing else, and after learning from Janos who the criminal was, the opinion was generally expressed that she must be crazy. Before the examining magistrate, who was informed of the bloody deed in the course of the forenoon, gave Panna an examination, he sent a physician to see her and give an opinion of her mental condition.
The doctor found the young widow lying on the bench, deadly pale and utterly exhausted. She had spent all the power of her soul in the horrible resolve and its execution, and was now as gentle and tearful as a frightened child. She entreated the physician to have the irons taken off; she could not bear them, she would be perfectly quiet; and when he promised this she also besought him to write to her father, whose address she gave, in her place. She begged the latter’s forgiveness for what she had done; she could not help it, there must be justice for gentlemen as well as for peasants. If there was no justice the world could not exist, everything would be topsy-turvy, and people would kill one another in the public streets just as the wild beasts did in the woods. She, too, would atone for the sin she had committed that day, and that would be perfectly just. She also sent a message to the gardener, thanking him for all the kindness and love which he had shown her, and hoping that he might have a happier life than Fate had allotted to her.