But his worship, ignoring the observation, remarked with a lordly air: "If the tobacco runs out, just cut me fresh, will you, Janosics? But don't leave it to the heydukes, they don't understand it as well as you do. Good tobacco, mind, and don't let them bring inferior. My cook must have my orders," he went on, but the castellan interrupted him respectfully: "May it please your worship, the prisoners' meals consist of pudding three times a week, and meat three times, with vegetable broth on Fridays." "My cook, I say, must have my orders," went on the other, not heeding, "and must make me fish-soup on Fridays, and I must have my wine sent in at once." "May it please your worship, the prisoners are not allowed to drink wine." But his protest availed little, for the new-comer proceeded airily: "And please, Janosics, see that the wine is well re-corked once it has been opened. And take care there is some fresh water in the wine-cooler, as well as plenty of it for washing." Then he looked round him. "Tell my cook to provide two covers; I don't like eating by myself, and don't want other people to look on while I dine." "The gentleman here is on invalid diet, and has light meals served from upstairs," said the gaoler. Ráby turned his back on the new-comer; he did not want him to think he troubled his head about him. "Never mind that, let the dinner be served for two, I tell you, and there will be all the more over for those who want it." "May it please your worship, the prisoners must go to bed at eight o'clock every night, and make no noise, for the deputy-lieutenant lives just overhead." "All right. But, Janosics, you must not let the prisoners go clanking up and down the corridor with their chains; the noise gets on my nerves, I can't stand it! Now you can go, and if I want anything, I'll just knock on the door, so the guard had better be on the alert. But let them take care to wipe their boots before coming in." The gaoler and heydukes blundered out of the room, and the new arrival turned to look at his companion. He appeared a jovial sort of person, and to be very genially disposed. "So it is Mr. Mathias Ráby after all," murmured the stranger with a smile. Ráby looked sharply at him. "You have the advantage of me," he said. The new-comer laughed slily. "Ah, I recognise you well enough, but perhaps you don't remember me, though we have met before?" Ráby had to admit that he had no such recollection. "Ah, that's because I was--well, differently dressed, perhaps, yet it is so, I can assure you, and what's more, I spoke four words to you, although you have so short a memory for them." And the speaker sat down and began filling his pipe and lighting up for a smoke. Ráby in vain sought for a solution to the mystery. After the smoker had taken a couple of pulls at the pipe, he went back to where our hero sat, and planted himself on the window-ledge letting his legs dangle, while his spurs rattled.