As soon as the csikós entered the room he began to act a preconcerted rôle. His swaggering betyár airs were such that one would have thought he had only learnt to play the csikós on the stage. When the judge asked his name he stared at him over his shoulder.
"My worthy name? Sándor Decsi! I have hurt no one, nor have I stolen anything, that I should be dragged here by gendarmes. Besides, I am not under civil authority. I am still a soldier of the Emperor, and if anyone has a complaint against me, let him go before the regimental authorities, and there I will answer him."
The magistrate silenced him. "Gently, young man, no one is accusing you of anything. We only want enlightenment in an affair closely concerning yourself. That is the object of this investigation. Tell us when were you last in the taproom of the Hortobágy inn?"
"I can inform you exactly. What is there to hide? But first send away this gendarme at my back. Because if he should happen to come too near, I am touchy and might give him a blow."
"Now, now, not so fast, young fellow. The gendarme is not guarding you. Tell us when it was that you visited Miss Klári here--the day she served you with wine?"
"Well, I will as soon as I have got my wits together. The last time I was at the Hortobágy inn was last year, on Demeter's day, when they engage the shepherds. Then they took me for a soldier, and I have not been in the place since."
"Yes, Sándor is my name. So they christened me."
"Then you were not there three days ago, when the barmaid gave you the wine mixed with mandragora, which made you so ill?"
"I _never_ was at the Hortobágy inn, nor did I see Miss Klári. It is half a year since I asked for any of her wine!"
"Sándor, you are lying for my sake!" cried the girl.
"Do not try to mislead the authorities with your denials. The girl has already confessed everything--that she made you drink wine poisoned with mandrake roots."
"Why, then, the young woman lied," said the herdsman.
"But what reason could she have for accusing herself of a crime which entails such heavy punishment?"
"Why, what reason? Because when the mad fit comes upon a girl, she simply raves without rhyme or reason. Miss Klári fancies our eyes don't meet each other's often enough, so she has an ill will against me, and now she takes to accusing herself to compel me to let out the _other one's_ name, out of sheer compassion--the pretty lass, to whom I went to lose my soul and cure my heart, and who gave me the charm to drink. Well, if I choose I'll tell, but if I don't, I won't. This is Miss Klári's revenge for my having neither called on her, nor gone near her since I came home on leave."