They had all been planted in Squire John's time.
"Here we will stop, old comrade.

You return to the wayside _csarda_; I will take a turn about here alone.

I shall not be longer than an hour away." "It would be as well were I to accompany you, young sir, if you mean to take a stroll, for wolves are wont to wander hither." "It is not necessary, my good friend, I am not afraid." And with that the stranger dismounted from the sledge, and, taking his axe in his hand, directed his way through the snowy field to the spot where the pines stood out darkly against the snow-white plain.
What was beneath those pines?
The family vault of the Karpathys, and he who came to visit it at that hour was Alexander Boltay.
The young artisan had heard from Teresa on her return home that Fanny was dead.

The great lady had been lowered into her tomb for the worms just as the wife of the poorest artisan might have been, and her tomb was perhaps still more neglected than the tomb of the artisan's wife would have been.
Then Alexander opened his heart to the old people.

He meant, he said, to make a pilgrimage to the tomb of the dead dear one whom he worshipped both in life and in death, and to whom, now that she was under the ground, he might confess his love, he had as much right now to her death-cold heart as anybody else in the world.