Baroness Plankenhorst and her daughter, with Sister Remigia and Edith, sat talking over the battle of Isaszeg and the supposed victory of the Austrians. Three of the ladies were in the best of humours. In the midst of their lively discussion there came a knock at the door and Rideghváry entered. Both of the Plankenhorst ladies hastened to meet him, greeted him with loud congratulations, and seated him in an armchair. Then for the first time they noticed how pale he looked. "What news from the front?" asked the baroness eagerly. "Bad news," he replied; "we have lost the battle of Isaszeg." "Impossible!" exclaimed Antoinette. "Yes, it is true," declared the other. "But why are you so certain of it?" asked Alfonsine. "People are so easily deceived by false rumours." Rideghváry threw a searching glance at the speaker. "It is more than a rumour, Miss Alfonsine," said he with emphasis. "What I tell you is the truth. The messenger who brought the news was on the spot when Otto Palvicz fell." The colour suddenly faded from the young lady's cheeks. "Otto Palvicz?" repeated Sister Remigia. No one else uttered the name. "Yes," returned Rideghváry, "the courier who was despatched to us was an eye-witness of the encounter between Otto Palvicz and Richard Baradlay. They aimed their swords at each other's heads both at the same time, and both fell at the same instant from their horses." There were now two pale faces turned anxiously toward the speaker, who continued with cruel deliberation: "Baradlay still lives; Otto Palvicz is dead." Edith sank back with a sigh of relief and folded her hands as one who gives thanks in silence, while Alfonsine, her features convulsed with rage and despair, sprang up from her chair and stood looking down wildly upon the speaker. Her mother turned to her in alarm. Was she about to betray her carefully guarded secret? But the girl cared little then what she said or who heard her. "Cursed be he who killed Otto Palvicz!" she exclaimed, with an ungovernable outburst of passion; and then, overcome by her feelings, she sank down on the sofa, sobbing violently. "Oh, my dear Otto!" she moaned, and then, turning again to Rideghváry: "There is no one in this city or in the whole world that can hate better than you and I. You know all: you have seen me and heard me. Is there any retribution in this world?" "Yes," answered Rideghváry. "Find it for me, even if hell itself has to be searched for it. Do you understand me?" "We both understand each other," was the quiet reply. "And if at any time your hatred slumbers or your zeal slackens, come to me."