Meanwhile, Zebulon, after the drug had done its work, went to sleep again and snored till broad daylight. With this _salto mortale_ he disappeared from public life. CHAPTER XXV. GOOD OLD FRIENDS. It was the evening of the thirteenth of August. The Hungarians had that day laid down their arms. Ödön Baradlay sat at an open window in the fading twilight, writing letters to his mother and his wife, informing them that he should await his fate where he was, even as the Roman senators had calmly awaited theirs, sitting in their curule chairs and scorning to fly before the invader. He viewed the situation with the calmness of a philosopher and showed none of the feverish uneasiness of those who were intent only on their own personal safety. He had not even thought to provide himself with a passport, as so many of his associates had done. While he thus sat, writing his letters and heedless of his surroundings, a stranger approached him. "Am I addressing Ödön Baradlay?" he asked. "That is my name," replied Ödön. "May I ask yours in return?" "My name is Valentine Schneiderius, evangelical clergyman of Pukkersdorf. I have brought you a letter, but am in haste and must not linger. As long as the Russians are in our rear the way is open; but presently it will be closed." He delivered his letter and withdrew. Ödön broke the seal and read: "DEAR FRIEND,--I shall never forget the ties that unite our families. Your late lamented father was my friend, and nothing could now induce me to look on and see the destruction of a true patriot like yourself. Would to God I could help many more! I send you an English passport, all signed and sealed, to take you out of the country. Write any name you choose in the blank space. Burn this. "Your old friend, "ZEBULON TALLÉROSSY. "P. S. Go by way of Poland and you won't be known. When safe, think of your country; perhaps you can yet do something for your poor people. "Z. T." Ödön examined the passport and found it complete in every detail,--even to being creased and soiled like a much-handled document. Then he threw it down, ashamed at the thought of using it to save his life when so many of his comrades in arms were in danger of death or captivity. Yet the mere prospect of safety made his pulse beat more rapidly, and involuntarily his thoughts turned to those dear ones at home who looked to him for comfort and support,--his wife and two little children.