"Laws? Forms?" Panna excitedly broke in, "where were these laws and
forms when our Marczi, my brother, was executed a few hours after his
offence? And he had not killed any one, only dealt a harsh officer a
blow."
"That was in the army, Panna, that was in war; it is an entirely
different matter."
"Indeed? And is it also a different matter that, a few years ago, the
vine-dresser's Bandi was hung three days after he set fire to his
master's barn?"
"Of course it is different, at that time we were under martial law."
"So once it was war and once it was martial law--that's all nonsense,
and I'll tell you what it is: our Marczi and the vine-dresser's Bandi
were peasants, and Herr von Abonyi is a gentleman."
The gardener made no reply, perhaps because he secretly shared Panna's
belief; but her father, who had been sitting at the table, cutting
tobacco with a huge knife and taking no part in the conversation,
suddenly struck its point so violently into the table that it stuck
fast, vibrating and buzzing, and exclaimed:
"Panna, Panna, I told you so then! The best way would have been to
split the dog's skull with the hoe that very day.
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