Lady Banfi, full of resignation, sank down upon her knees before her guests, and bowed her head like a criminal awaiting punishment. "It is not my practice to correct my wife in public," murmured Banfi, with an unsteady voice. "Then I'll do so myself," cried Apafi; and approaching the lady he said--"You deserve, madame, to be sent to jail!" "That I would not allow, sir!" muttered Banfi between his teeth. He was now as pale as a corpse. All his blood, all his fire, seemed concentrated in his eyes. All his muscles quivered with shame and rage. "Gentlemen!" interrupted a sweet, sonorous voice. How soothingly it sounded amidst the rough contention of angry men. It was the voice of the Princess, who stepped between the lady and her accuser. "In former times," she cried reproachfully, "noblemen were ever wont to respect noble ladies." "So you are again at hand to defend those whom I attack?" cried the Prince petulantly. "I am again at hand to prevent your Highness from committing an act of injustice. I have always the _right_ to defend my sister--but it becomes my _duty_ to do so when she is insulted!" With these words the Princess embraced Margaret, who no sooner felt herself in the embrace of a stronger than herself, than she lost all her artificial strength, and sank senseless into her sister's arms. Banfi would have hastened to his wife's assistance, but Dame Apafi waved him back. "Go!" cried she; "I'll take care of her!" "Then you mean to remain here?" said the Prince to his consort, in a voice trembling between wrath and compassion. "My sister has need of me--and you, I see, can do without me." Apafi, ever since his wife had begun to speak, had plainly lowered his crest, and fearing lest she might rout him altogether, he hastily quitted the battle-field with a half triumph. He could not fail to be very much discontented with the result of his investigation. He felt that he had wounded Banfi in a sore place, but he also felt that the wound was not mortal. The great nobleman had been affronted rather than humbled. So much the worse for him! What will not bend must be broken. CHAPTER VI. THE DIET OF KAROLY-FEHERVÁR. It is the fate of many a town, as of many a nation, to rise from the dead. One people perishes there. The walls fall to pieces. The name of the town passes into oblivion. And again there comes another people, which builds upon the ruins, gives the place a new name; and while the old stones, cast one upon another, seem to bewail the past, the city, radiant with new palaces, rejoices in its youth like a flattered beauty.