Some unruly spirit was about who chased slumber from everybody's eyes.
Master Boltay's brain was chock-full of all the speeches that he meant to make here, there, and everywhere as if he were preparing to be the mouth-piece of the whole town.

Teresa's mind was wandering among the events of the present and the past, trying to throw light upon all the manifold contradictions of a young maiden's heart, and find out how much therein was good or bad, instinct or free will.
But it was from Fanny's eyes that the genius of slumber kept furthest away.
Only one thought, one idea now lived in her heart--the face of that man whom she loved, whose shape she crowned with the flowers of her devotion, whom she pictured to herself as noble, grand, and glorious, with the memory of whom her heart was full, whose smiling figure she always conjured up before her when no living face was near her, and oh, then, how good it was to rest in its contemplation! She had no longer a thought for the twofold offer presented to her by her guardian, the inspiration of these sublime moments erased from her recollection the gloomy-faced youth and the grotesque old man, both of whom wanted to make her their wife.
Where is he now--the unknown, the unnameable, the unforgettable ideal?
Most certainly he has no idea that a heart is pining for him in secret, in tribulation, just as the moon is quite unconscious of the lunatic who pursues her rays and leaps across dizzy abysses in order to get nearer to her! How blessed the lot of those ladies of the great world who can see him every day, speak to, admire, and honour him! Perhaps one among them is his chosen bride! No, nobody could love him so truly, oh, so truly as she would have done.

She would never, never tell him so, but she should love him to the death! Why was it that she could never hope to even get near him?
Never?
Suddenly a strange thought arose in her mind.

It would only cost her a single word, and the doors of the haughtiest, the most illustrious houses would fly open before her, and she would stand in the same rank, in the same atmosphere as those lofty, those envied ladies who were at liberty to behold the face and hear the voice of her adored idol.
A shudder ran through her at the thought.
Yes, this goal would be reached if she gave her hand to Karpathy.

A single step would raise her at once into this seemingly unattainable world.
She rejected the thought, only for a moment did her soul retain it, and then she brushed it away.
What would her good friends and kinsfolk Boltay and Teresa say, if she refused a fine, manly, noble-hearted youth, and, for the sake of money and splendour, accepted the hand of a dotard she did not love?
But again, there were other kinsfolk whom, if she took this step, she could make happy, whom she could rescue from bitter shame, reproach, and wretchedness--her mother and sisters.