Pista's first movement was to throw himself against the door to burst
it open with his shoulder, but he paused instinctively as he heard
Abonyi's voice, shouting loudly outside.
"Janos," called the latter to the coachman, who stood washing the
horses' harnesses beside the coach-house door, "go up to my chamber and
bring me down the revolver, the one on the table by the bed, not the
other which hangs on the wall!"
Janos went, and stillness reigned in the courtyard. Now the prisoner's
rage burst forth. "Open! open!" he roared, drumming furiously on the
oak-door. Abonyi, who was keeping guard, at first said nothing, but as
the man inside shouted and shook more violently, he called to him: "Be
quiet, my son, you'll be let out presently, not to your beautiful wife,
but to the parish jail."
"Open!" yelled the voice inside again, "or I'll set fire to the hay and
burn down your flayer's hut."
This was an absurd, ridiculous threat, for in the first place Pista, if
he had really attempted to execute it, would have stifled and roasted
himself before the mansion received the slightest injury, and besides,
as examination afterwards proved, he had neither matches nor tinder
with him; but Abonyi pretended to take the boast seriously and cried
scornfully:
"Better and better! You are a sly fellow! First you threaten me with
murder, now with arson; keep on, run up a big reckoning, when the time
for settlement comes, we will both be present.
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