He then went to take leave of his Uncle Jozsef, whom he found surrounded by his family.  The twins were sitting at his feet, while his wife was playing bo-peep with the little one, who laughed and shouted, while his mother hid herself behind his father’s armchair.

Imre’s entrance interrupted the general mirth.  The little boy ran over to examine the sword and golden tassels, while the little one began to cry in alarm at the sight of the strange dress.

“Csitt, baba!” said his mother, taking him from his father’s arms; “your cousin is going to wars, and will bring you a golden horse.”

Jozsef wrung his nephew’s hand.  “God be with you!” he exclaimed, and added in a lower voice, “You are the noblest of us all—­you have done well!”

They then all embraced him in turns, and Imre left them, amidst clamors of the little ones, and proceeded to his grandmother’s apartments.

On the way, he met his Uncle Barnabas, who embraced him again and again in silence, and then tore himself away without saying a word.

The old lady sat in her great armchair, which she seldom quitted, and as she heard the clash of Imre’s sword, she looked up and asked who was coming.

“It is Imre!” said the fair-haired maiden, blushing, and her heart beat quickly as she pronounced his name.

Jolanka felt that Imre was more than a brother to her, and the feeling with which she had learnt to return his affection was warmer than even a sister’s love.

The widow lady and the cripple were also in the grandmother’s apartment; the child sat on a stool at the old lady’s feet, and smiled sadly as the young man entered.

“Why that sword at your side, Imre?” asked the old lady in a feeble voice.  “Ah, this is no good world—­no good world!  But if God is against us, who can resist His hand?  I have spoken with the dead again in dreams.  I thought they all came around me and beckoned me to follow them; but I am ready to go, and place my life with gratitude and confidence in the hands of the Lord.  Last night I saw the year 1848 written in the skies in letters of fire.  Who knows what may come over us yet?  This is no good world—­no good world!”

Imre bent silently over the old lady’s hand and kissed it.

“And so you are going?  Well, God bless and speed you, if you go beneath the cross, and never forget in life or in death to raise your heart to the Lord;” and the old lady placed her withered hand upon her grandson’s head, and murmured, “God Almighty bless you!”

“My husband was just such a handsome youth when I lost him,” sighed the widow lady as she embraced her nephew.  “God bless you!”

The little cripple threw his arms around his cousin’s knees and, sobbing, entreated him not to stay long away.

The last who bade farewell was Jolanka.  She approached with downcast eyes, holding in her small white hands an embroidered cockade, which she placed on his breast.  It was composed of five colors—­blue and gold, red, white, and green.[3]