The heydukes told us afterwards that when he got
outside he rose up in the car and addressed the people. He was a tall,
handsome fellow with red cheeks, long black hair and a fine sonorous
voice like any chaplain's. His last words were: 'Well, I now look upon
this fair world for the last time.'"
[Footnote 15: Hungarian pilau.]
"Did he leave behind him any new songs," enquired Hatszegi. "He was
always a famous singer."
"Yes, one he made in jail, and a splendid song it was too, I can tell
you. Bandi! pipe it to his lordship on your _tilinka_ as I have taught
you." At these words one of the youths drew forth from his sleeve one of
those flutes made of elder-wood, which in Hungarian goes by the name of
a _tilinka_, and which with its poor six holes is able to give forth as
many variations as the throat of a lark; then, without any virtuoso airs
he simply piped the plaintive melody.
The baron was immensely pleased. "Margari," cried he, "go to the
carriage, look for my fiddle and bring it hither!"
At this command poor Margari had a veritable ague fit of terror. All
this time he had remained ducking down in the carriage firmly persuaded
that the robbers in this lonely place would cut down every mother's son
of them at nightfall. In such a case he was prepared to swear that he
had never belonged to the party at all, but would pretend he was only a
poor tramp, and so escape that way.
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