From the window of another room there looks down a very tall old man in a long clerical surtout with small buttons. Since losing his teeth his chin has moved closer to his nose, which makes his nose look a long way from his eyes. He seems to be taking no part whatever in the general rejoicings. By his side leans a lady in mourning, wearing a black velvet _haube_; rage and contempt are unmistakably visible in her countenance. Near these two stands Master Stephen Nalaczi with folded arms, surveying the whole procession with a droll, sarcastic smile. "Just look, your Reverence," says the lady in widow's weeds to the grey-headed clergyman. "Did ever prince lord it with the pomp and splendour of this simple Baron? I have been at coronations, installations, inaugurations, triumphal ovations, but never, never have I seen anything like the homage paid to this private man. If they rendered it to a prince it might pass, but who, forsooth, is this Denis Banfi? Why, a simple nobleman--just such a one as we are, except that he is full of arrogance and pretence. All this princely splendour does not belong to him _de jure_. Oh! well do I know the meaning of the word _jus_; for I have all my life been before the courts against greater lords than he." "How my reverend colleagues press forward to kiss his hand," murmured Martin Kuncz (for that was the clergyman's name). "Ei! ei! Look now, at my learned colleague Gabriel Csekalusi, how radiantly he hastens forward to assist his Excellency out of his carriage!--and he is right, for Denis Banfi is the visible providence of the Calvinists. But for poor, vagabond Unitarian ministers like me, the place behind the door is good enough." "But just look! just look! how the worthy _armalists_[38] raise him on high and carry him on their shoulders to the door. 'Tis well they do not set him on a litter like a sovereign prince--as if, forsooth, feeding them at his table made him their lord and master!" [Footnote 38: _Armalists._ Noblemen who could show _literae armales_ in support of their nobility.] "Nay, but, Madame Saint Pauli, pray let the good people do him homage if they like," interrupted Nalaczi with a sneer. "Wait a bit. The greeting I have in reserve for him will add salt to the soup! It will bring my lord to his senses, I warrant you!"