"Casting the die will not do; we may throw all day long, and two may remain at the end."
"Well, let us play cards for her."
"I cannot allow that, the more cunning will deceive the simpler."
"Well, write our names upon bricks, and throw them all into a barrel; and whichever name you draw will take away the girl."
"I can say what name I please, for none of you can read."
The Wallachian shook his head impatiently.
"Well, propose something yourself, Decurio."
"I will. Let us try which of us can give the best proof of courage and daring; and whoever can do that, shall have the girl, for he best deserves her."
"Well said!" cried the men unanimously. "Let us each relate what we have done, and then you can judge which among us is the boldest."
"I killed the first Bardy in the court in sight of his family."
"I broke in the door, when that terrible man was dashing down the iron on our heads."
"But it was I who pierced his heart."
"I mounted the stairs first."
"I fought nearly half an hour with the noble in the cloth of gold."
And thus they continued. Each man, according to his own account, was the first and the bravest—each had performed miracles of valor.
"You have all behaved with great daring, but it is impossible now to prove what has happened. The proof must be given here, by all of us together, before my eyes, indisputably."
"Well, tell us how," said Lupey impatiently, always fearing that the Decurio was going to deceive them.
"Look here," said Numa, drawing a small cask from beneath the bed—and in doing so he observed that the young girl half opened her eyes, as she glanced at him, and then closed them. She was awake, and had heard all.
As he stooped down, Numa whispered gently in her ear: "Fear nothing," and then drew the cask into the middle of the room.
The Wallachians stared with impatient curiosity as he knocked out the bottom of the cask with a hatchet.
"This cask contains gunpowder," continued Decurio. "We will light a match and place it in the middle of the cask, and whoever remains longest in the room is undoubtedly the most courageous; for there is enough here to blow up not only this house, but the whole of the neighboring village."
At this proposition several of the men began to murmur.
"If any are afraid they are not obliged to remain," said the Decurio dryly.
"I agree," said Lupey doggedly. "I will remain here; and perhaps, after all, it is poppy-seeds you have got there—it looks very much like them."
The Decurio stooped down, and taking a small quantity between his fingers, threw it into the Wallachian's pipe, which immediately exploded, causing him to stagger backwards, and the next instant he stood with a blackened visage, sans beard and moustache, amidst the jeers and laughter of his comrades.
This only exasperated him the more.
"I will stay for all that!" he exclaimed; and lifting up the pipe which he had dropped, he walked over and lit it at the burning match which the Decurio was placing in the cask.
Upon this, two-thirds of the men left the room.
The rest assembled around the cask with much noise and bravado, swearing by heaven and earth that they would stay until the match burned out; but the more they swore, the more they looked at the burning match, the flame of which was slowly approaching the gunpowder.
For some minutes their courage remained unshaken, but after that they ceased to boast, and began to look at each other in silent consternation, while their faces grew paler every instant. At last one or two rose and stood aloof; the others followed their example, and some grinding their teeth with rage, others chattering with terror, they all began to leave the room.
Only two remained beside the cask; Numa, who stood with his arms folded leaning against the foot of the bed; and Lupey, who was sitting on the iron of the cask with his back turned to the danger, and smoking furiously.
As soon as they were alone, the latter glanced behind him and saw the flame was within an inch of the powder.
"I'll tell you what, Decurio," he said, springing up, "we are only two left, don't let us make food of each other; let us come to an understanding on this matter."
"If you are tired of waiting, I can press the match lower."
"This is no jest, Numa; you are risking your own life. How can you wish to send us both to hell for the sake of a pale girl? But I'll tell you what—I'll give her up to you if you will only promise that she shall be mine when you are tired of her."
"Remain here and win her—if you dare."
"To what purpose?" said the Wallachian, in a whining voice, and in his impatience he began to tear his clothes and stamp with his feet, like a petted child.
"What I have said stands good," said the Decurio; "whoever remains longest has the sole right to the lady."
"Well, I will stay, of course; but what do I gain by it? I know you will stay, too, and then the devil will have us both; and I speak not only for myself when I say I do not wish that."
"If you do not wish it, you had better be gone."
"Well, I don't care—if you will give me a golden mark."
"Not the half; stay if you like it."
"Decurio, this is madness! The flame will reach the powder immediately."
"I see it."
"Well, say a dollar."
"Not a whit."
"May the seventy-seven limited thunder-bolt strike you on St. Michael's Day!" roared the Wallachian fiercely, as he rushed to the door; but after he had gone out, he once more thrust his head in and cried: "Will you give even a florin? I am not gone yet."
"Nor have I removed the match; you may come back." The Wallachian slammed the door, and ran for his life, till exhausted and breathless he sank under a tree, where he lay with his tunic over his head, and his ears covered with his hands, only now and then raising his head nervously, to listen for the awful explosion which was to blow up the world.
Meanwhile Numa coolly removed the match, which was entirely burnt down; and throwing it into the grate, he stepped over to the bed and whispered into the young girl's ear: "You are free!"
Trembling, she raised herself in the bed and taking the Decurio's large, sinewy hands within her own, she murmured: "Be merciful! O hear my prayer, and kill me!"
The Decurio stroked the fair hair of the lovely suppliant.
"Poor child!" he replied gently; "you have nothing to fear; nobody will hurt you now."
"You have saved me from these fearful people—now save me from yourself!"
"You have nothing to fear from me," replied the Dacian, proudly; "I fight for liberty alone, and you may rest as securely within my threshold as on the steps of the altar. When I am absent you need have no anxiety, for these walls are impregnable, and if anyone should dare offend you by the slightest look, that moment shall be the last of his mortal career. And when I am at home you have nothing to fear, for woman's image never dwelt within my heart. Accept my poor couch, and may your rest be sweet!—Imre Bardy slept on it last night."
"Imre!" exclaimed the starting girl. "You have seen him, then?—oh! where is he!"
The Decurio hesitated. "He should not have delayed so long," he murmured, pressing his hand against his brow; "all would have been otherwise."
"Oh! let me go to him; if you know where he is."
"I do not know, but I am certain he will come here if he is alive—indeed he must come."
"Why do you think that?"
"Because he will seek you."
"Did he then speak—before you?"
"As he lay wounded on that couch, he pronounced your name in his dreams. Are you not that Jolanka Bardy whom they call 'The Angel'? I knew you by your golden locks."
The young girl cast down her eyes. "Then you think he will come?" she said in a low voice. "And my relations?"
"He will come as soon as possible; and now you must take some food and rest. Do not think about your relations now; they are all in a safe place—nobody can hurt them more."
The Decurio brought some refreshment, laid a small prayer-book on the pillow, and left the orphan by herself.