In the rainy autumn days the Baradlay family removed from Körös Island to Nemesdomb. The latter was no longer a hospital: the patients had been elsewhere provided for, and all traces of war and bloodshed had disappeared. One evening, when the little family was gathered about the lamp, the door opened and a guest entered unannounced. It was a guest not wont to stand on ceremony, a guest whose right it was to enter any house at any time, whether its inmates were at table, at prayers, or whatever they might be doing. His uniform--that of the imperial police--was his passport. He raised his hand to his cap in military salute. "Pardon me for disturbing you at so late an hour," said he in German; "but I bring a despatch from Pest directed to Baron Edmund von Baradlay." So the fatal summons had come at last! Ödön took a lamp from the table. "That is my name," said he, calmly. "Will you please come with me to my room?" "Excuse me; I have also letters for the two ladies,--the dowager Baroness Casimir von Baradlay and the young Baroness von Baradlay." The messenger took from his pocketbook the three letters, and delivered them according to the addresses they bore. "I will await your pleasure in the anteroom," said he, as he saluted and withdrew. All three looked at their letters with pale faces, as one scrutinises a missive he fears to open and read. Each of the letters bore the government seal, and was addressed in the clear, caligraphic hand of an office clerk. Each contained, in the same caligraphic handwriting, the following: "It is my duty to forward to you the enclosed communication, which has been officially examined by me, and found to contain no objectionable matter." Then followed an illegible scrawl as signature. The "enclosed communication" proved in each case to be a letter from Jenő. Ödön's ran as follows: "DEAR EDMUND:--To-day I bring to its fulfilment that for which I have lived. I die for the cause I have embraced. Be not bowed down with sadness at my fate; I go to meet it with head erect. I leave you my blessing, and take my faith with me. The blood we shed will moisten no thankless soil: from it will spring golden harvests for our fatherland and for humanity. You who survive will rear again the structure that now falls in ruins over our heads. Sooner or later the helm of the ship of state will come into your hands. I die with entire submission to the decrees of destiny. Dry Aranka's tears; kiss for me little Béla and the baby, and when they ask whither I have gone, say I am in your heart. For yourself, never lose courage; live for our family and our country, which may God prosper for ages to come! Your brother, "EUGEN." The parting message to Aranka was thus conceived: