Nearly three hours afterwards he left the Goldene Alp between his guests.  It was sunset, and along the riverbank the houses stood out, unsoftened by the dusk; the streets were full of people hurrying home.  Swithin had a hazy vision of empty bottles, of the ground before his feet, and the accessibility of all the world.  Dim recollections of the good things he had said, of his brother and Traquair seated in the background eating ordinary meals with inquiring, acid visages, caused perpetual smiles to break out on his face, and he steered himself stubbornly, to prove that he was a better man than either’ of his guests.  He knew, vaguely, that he was going somewhere with an object; Rozsi’s face kept dancing before him, like a promise.  Once or twice he gave Kasteliz a glassy stare.  Towards Boleskey, on the other hand, he felt quite warm, and recalled with admiration the way he had set his glass down empty, time after time.  ‘I like to see him take his liquor,’ he thought; ’the fellow’s a gentleman, after all.’  Boleskey strode on, savagely inattentive to everything; and Kasteliz had become more like a cat than ever.  It was nearly dark when they reached a narrow street close to the cathedral.  They stopped at a door held open by an old woman.  The change from the fresh air to a heated corridor, the noise of the door closed behind him, the old woman’s anxious glances, sobered Swithin.

“I tell her,” said Boleskey, “that I reply for you as for my son.”

Swithin was angry.  What business had this man to reply for him!

They passed into a large room, crowded with men all women; Swithin noticed that they all looked fit him.  He stared at them in turn—­they seemed of all classes, some in black coats or silk dresses, others in the clothes of work-people; one man, a cobbler, still wore his leather apron, as if he had rushed there straight from his work.  Laying his hand on Swithin’s arm, Boleskey evidently began explaining who he was; hands were extended, people beyond reach bowed to him.  Swithin acknowledged the greetings with a stiff motion of his head; then seeing other people dropping into seats, he, too, sat down.  Some one whispered his name—­Margit and Rozsi were just behind him.

“Welcome!” said Margit; but Swithin was looking at Rozsi.  Her face was so alive and quivering!  ‘What’s the excitement all about?’ he thought.  ‘How pretty she looks!’ She blushed, drew in her hands with a quick tense movement, and gazed again beyond him into the room.  ‘What is it?’ thought Swithin; he had a longing to lean back and kiss her lips.  He tried angrily to see what she was seeing in those faces turned all one way.