I was full of expectation.  I listened.  I did not hear a word of conversation.  Presently father came back with the empty plates in his hand.  Somebody bolted the chamber’s door behind him.

Father went out of the studio, and I, much embarrassed, crept from behind the barrel.

I knew that the chamber had a window, which looked back toward the plowed fields.  I ran out of the studio and around the house.  Much to my astonishment, the chamber’s window was curtained inside.  A large yellow plaid curtain hid everything from view.  But I had to go, anyway, for I heard Irma’s voice calling from the yard: 

“Antal, to lunch!”

I sat down to the table with you, my sisters, and looked at father.  He was sitting at the head of the table, and ate without saying a word.

Day after day I troubled my head about this mystery in the chamber, but said not a word to anybody.  I went into the studio, as usual, but I did not notice anything peculiar.  Not a sound came from the chamber, and when our father worked in the shop with his ten laborers he passed by the small door as if beyond it there was nothing out of the ordinary.

On Thursday I had to go back to Germany.  On Tuesday night curiosity seized me again.  Suddenly I felt that perhaps never would I know what was going on in my father’s house.  That night, when the working people were gone, I went into the studio.  For a long time I was lost in my thoughts.  All kinds of romantic ideas passed through my head, while my gaze rested on that small mysterious chamber door.

In the studio it was dark already, and from under the small door in a thin border a yellow radiance poured out.  Suddenly I regained my courage.  I went to the door and listened.  Somebody was speaking.  It was a man’s voice, but I did not understand what he was saying.  I was putting my ear close to the door, when I heard steps at the front of the studio.  Father came.

I quickly withdrew myself behind the barrel.  Father walked through the hall and knocked on the door softly.  The bolt clicked and the door opened.  Father went into the chamber and closed the door immediately and locked it.

Now all discretion and sense of honor in me came to an end.  Curiosity mastered me.  I knew that last year one part of this small room had been partitioned off and was used as a woodhouse.  And I knew that there was a possibility of going into the woodhouse through the yard.

I went out, therefore, but found the woodhouse was closed.  Driven by trembling curiosity, I ran into the house, took the key of the woodhouse from its nail, and in a minute, through the crevice between two planks, I was looking into that mysterious little room.

There was a table in the middle of the room, and beside the wall were two straw mattresses.  On the table a lighted candle stood.  A bottle of wine was beside it, and around the table were sitting father and two strangers.  Both the strangers were all in black.  Something in their appearance froze me with terror.