"And when you are a rich and powerful man," his mother continued, "in possession of all that we now hold in common, and when you are crowned with honours and happiness, then, my son, remember this hour and your mother's petition: let your brother's children never suffer want." "Mother!" cried Jenő, beside himself with grief and pain. Hastening to his desk, he drew forth his certificate of appointment from one of its drawers, tore it into a hundred pieces, and then sank weeping on his mother's breast. "Mother, I am not going to Russia." The mother's joy at these words was too great for utterance. She clasped her youngest, her dearest son in a warm embrace. "And you will come with me, my boy?" she asked. "Yes, I will go with you." "I shall not let you follow your brothers to the battle-field. You must stay at home and be our comforter; your life must be spared. I wish you to lead a happy life. May I not hope for many years of happiness for you?" Jenő sighed deeply, his thoughts turning to what was now a thing of the past,--his bright dream of happiness. He kissed his mother, but left her question unanswered. "Let us hurry away from here at once," said she, rising from the sofa. Then for the first time Jenő remembered the passport. "This passport," said he, producing it, "was all in readiness for you had you come yesterday; and you can still make use of it." "Who gave it to you?" asked the mother. "An old friend of the family, the same who procured me my appointment." "And do you think I will accept any favour from him?" Therewith the baroness tore up the passport and threw the fragments on the floor, among those of the destroyed certificate. "Oh, what have you done?" exclaimed Jenő in alarm. "How will you make your escape? Every outlet is barred." The other merely raised her head in scorn and triumph. "As if I could not put all their precautions to shame!" she exclaimed. "Get your cloak, my son; I will take you by such a way that no man will venture to follow us." * * * * * The next day Rideghváry waited in vain for the young secretary, in order to escort him to the place where he was to take the oath of office. In vain, too, did the bride and her mother, and all the invited guests, wait for the bridegroom to join them. He failed to appear. Surely that dreaded mother of his must have seduced him! Whither he had vanished, and how he had made his way through the lines, remained an unsolved riddle. It never occurred to any one that in times like those the Danube offered an excellent road for such as dared trust their lives to a frail boat, in the mist and darkness of the night, with two stout-hearted fishermen at the oars. CHAPTER XVI. THROUGH FIRE AND WATER. And now whither? That was the anxious query of the deserting squadron of hussars.