Now Ráby had ceased to be fearful of discovery by these pursuers, as from the description of him so industriously circulated, they could not recognise him in his present disguise. Moreover, he had been carefully shaven every day since his flight, and his face newly painted, the better to sustain his rôle. But this time he had cause for anxiety, for the first voice he heard without was a hatefully familiar one--that of the castellan, Janosics. How did he come to be here, for they were now in the jurisdiction of Pozsony not of Pesth. He heard the castellan giving orders for one man to come in with him, and the other to remain with the horses. Ráby stole a glance at the door which was half open. A cold shudder seized him as he caught sight of Janosics wearing the Pesth uniform, and carrying a carbine in his hand and a sword at his belt. Ráby pressed his head down lower, so his face might not be seen. The big sleeves of his bodice helped him to hide his features the more easily. "Up all of you fellows, and let me have a look at you!" shouted the castellan. Those present immediately obeyed, and submitted to the inspection. "The man I want is not here," grumbled Janosics, as he rapidly ran over the assembled faces, but when he came to Kurovics, he laughed aloud. "Aha, Master Kurovics, so you are here, are you? What brings you out this bitter winter weather, pray?" "Oh, we must look after our business you know," answered the other, without the least embarrassment. "Where's your passport?" "What do I want with one? I don't cross the frontier." "Well," shouted the other, "what may you be doing here?" "Hush! not so loud," retorted Kurovics, with a glance at Ráby. "I've got my little cousin to look after." "Oh, that's the game, is it? Soho, I see; and a nice little baggage it is, I'll be bound. Oh I don't want to wake her if she's tired." And the castellan sat down between Ráby and Kurovics, and asked the latter for a bit of his tobacco. Then he smoked, but always keeping an eye on Ráby. "Pretty, eh?" he asked, and he made as though he would raise the coloured kerchief that half hid the sleeper's face. "Let her rest, Mr. castellan, I beg. She's wearied out with the journey." "Well, well, let her be then, but you, hostess, bring us some wine, and take some to the heyduke outside." "And what may you be doing in this neighbourhood, if I may be so bold?" inquired Kurovics. "Oh, an important police-mission. A dangerous felon, the notorious Mathias Ráby broke out of Pesth prison last week, and the descriptions circulated of him are not correct, as I could have told them had they asked me. The fellow is not bearded as described, but he was shaved the day before he got out, and had a face as smooth as any girl's." Ráby felt as if the beatings of his heart would burst his bodice, as the new-comer went on: