What! first to invite the former lover of his wife to be his guest and
then show his indifference by choosing that very time to absent himself
from the house for some days!
But on one thing she was resolved--Vamhidy should not find her at
Hidvar. She would fly. She would leave her husband's house. Where should
she go? Who would receive her? What would become of her? She did not
know, she gave the matter no thought, but one thing was certain: Szilard
and she might meet together in the grave but they should never encounter
each other beneath the shadow of the halls of Hidvar.
There was nobody she could confide in. All the servants were her
husband's paid spies and her own jailors. The priest had disappeared
altogether from Hidvar. In her despair an old memory rose up before her.
She called to mind that during the earlier days of her stay at Hidvar
when she had explored the whole region under the delusion that she could
make the wretched happy, she had often passed a little house which had
always riveted her attention. It was a little hunting hut in the midst
of the forest built entirely of wood and planed smoothly outside like a
little polished cabinet. In front of it stood broad spreading fruit
trees, crowded with flowers in spring, crowded with fruit in autumn,
wild vines and moss grew all over its roofs.
In the midst of the listening woods this little house had such an
inviting exterior that the very first time she saw it, Henrietta could
not resist the temptation of entering it.
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