She now stepped behind the child, wound its beautiful blonde tresses round her left hand, and with her right grasped the handle of the knife convulsively. "Oh, God, my God!" cried Elise's bell-like voice. At that same instant the iron door opened wide, and between its receding wings stood a spectre--a spectre was the only name for it, as it had no resemblance to anything human. A pale face, like the face of one arisen from the tomb, white dishevelled hair clinging round his temples and hanging over his bloodshot eyes. He had wrapped a long mantle over his white night-dress which fluttered about him like the wings of a bat. It was old Hétfalusy. In each hand he held a loaded pistol, and as the opening door groaned on its hinges he cried in a hoarse voice: "Here I am, but whoever dares to lay a hand upon the girl, him will I shoot first and the girl afterwards." But it was a threat which excited little terror, his hands trembled so and his eyes were scarce able to see what was before them. Nobody followed him. He passed through the door alone. The Leather-bell, however, was so terrified lest he should carry out his threat that he threw himself at the old man's feet, and embracing his knees, piteously besought him: "Master, master, oh, my dear master! don't fire, for God's sake! Lay down your pistols. I assure you that nobody here will hurt you." "Will ye swear, then, that you will do the child no harm?" gasped old Hétfalusy. "Put down your weapons!" cried the rioters. "Swear that you will not harm her in any way, and then I will put them down." "Very well, we swear!" cried some in the rear of the crowd. "Let that woman swear too," said Hétfalusy, pointing at Dame Zudár with a shaking hand. None of them did he hold in such horror as her. The virago smiled and twiddled the knife between her fingers. Craftily lowering her eyes, and casting a side-long glance at the old man, she replied: "And by whom, then, am I to swear?" "By the name of God, the living God." "But what shall I swear?" "Swear that neither you yourself, nor any of your companions, will do this child any harm, whosoever child she is, and whether what you allege concerning her be true or not." "Nothing else?" "Nothing." "Would you not save your own grey hairs from being crumpled then?" "May the Almighty dispose of me as it seemeth Him good." "Then I will take the oath," cried the virago, and, raising her muscular right arm heavenwards, she cried: "No harm shall come to the child, so help me, God!" Then Hétfalusy calmly surrendered his pistols to the Leather-bell, who politely kissed his hand for so doing, and straightway fired the pistols off in the air, so that they might do no harm to anyone. The same instant the blaspheming mob fell upon the defenceless squire, tore at his grey locks and impotent limbs, and hurled him to the ground.