Then the two ladies withdrew to make their toilets for the evening; and the gentlemen betook themselves to the smoking-room, to indulge in a little game of chance, without which no “installation” ceremony would have been complete.
CHAPTER III
The following morning, after a very satisfactory breakfast, the gentlemen took leave of their amiable hostess, Bernat bácsi lingering behind the rest to whisper significantly:
“I will not say farewell, Katinka hugom, for I am coming back to tell you all about it.” Then he took his place in the extra post-chaise, and bade the postilion drive directly to the neighboring castle. The Nameless Castle was built on a narrow tongue of land that extended into Lake Neusiedl. The road to the castle gate ran along a sort of causeway, which was protected from the water by a strong bulwark composed of fascines, and a row of willows with knotty crowns. A drawbridge at the farther end made it necessary for the person who wished to enter the gate to ask permission.
On ringing the bell, there appeared at the gate the servant who has already been described,—the groom, coachman, and man of all work in one person. He had on a handsome livery, white gloves, white stockings, and shoes without heels.
“Is the count at home?” inquired the vice-palatine.
“He is.”
“Announce us. I am the vice-palatine of the county, and wish to pay an official visit.”
“The Herr Count is already informed of the gentlemen’s arrival, and bids them welcome.”
This certainly was getting on smoothly enough! And the most convincing proof of a hearty welcome was that the stately groom himself hastened to remove the luggage from the chaise and carry it into the vestibule—a sign that the guests were expected to make a visit of some duration.
Now, however, something curious happened.
Before the groom opened the hall door, he produced three pairs of socks, woven of strands of cloth,—mamuss they are called in this region,—and respectfully requested the visitors to draw them over their boots.
“And why, pray?” demanded the astonished vice-palatine.
“Because in this house the clatter of boots is not considered pleasant; and because the socks prevent boots from leaving dusty marks on the carpets.”
“This is exactly like visiting a powder-magazine.” But they had to submit and draw their socks over their yellow boots, and, thus equipped, they ascended the staircase to the reception-room.
An air of almost painful neatness reigned in all parts of the castle. Stairs and corridors were covered with coarse white cloth, the sort used for peasants’ clothing in Hungary. The walls were hung with glossy white paper. Every door-latch had been polished until it glistened. There were no cobwebs to be seen in the corners; nor would a spider have had anything to prey upon here, for there were no flies, either. The floor of the reception-room into which the visitors had been conducted shone like a mirror, and not a speck of dust was to be seen on the furniture.
“The Herr Count awaits your lordship in the salon,” announced the groom, and conducted Herr Bernat into the adjoining chamber. Here, too, the furniture was white and gold. The oil-paintings in the rococo frames represented landscapes, fruit pieces, and game; there was not a portrait among them.
Beside the oval table with tigers’ feet stood the mysterious occupant of the Nameless Castle. He was a tall man, with knightly bearing, expressive face, a high, broad forehead left uncovered by his natural hair, a straight Greek nose, gray eyes, a short mustache and pointed beard, which where a shade lighter than his hair.
“Magnifice comes—” the vice-palatine was beginning in Latin, when the count interposed:
“I speak Hungarian.”
“Impossible!” exclaimed the visitor, whose astonishment was reflected in his face. “Hungarian? Why, where can your worship have learned it?”
“From the grammar.”
“From the grammar?” For the vice-palatine this was the most astounding of all the strange things about the mysterious castle. Had he not always known that Hungarian could only be learned by beginning when a child and living in a Hungarian family? That any one had learned the language as one learns the hic, hæc, hoc was a marvel that deserved to be recorded. “From the grammar?” he repeated. “Well, that is wonderful! I certainly believed I should have to speak Latin to your worship. But allow me to introduce my humble self—”
“I already have the honor,” quietly interrupted the count, “of knowing that you are Herr Vice-palatine Bernat Görömbölyi von Dravakeresztur.”
He repeated the whole name without a single mistake!
The vice-palatine bowed, and began again:
“The object of my visit to-day is—”
Again he was interrupted.
“I know that also,” said the count. “The Fertöszeg estate has passed into the hands of another proprietor, who has a legal right to withdraw the lease and revoke the conditions made and agreed to by her predecessor; and the Herr Vice-palatine is come, at the request of the baroness, to serve a notice to quit.”
Herr Bernat did not like it when any one interrupted him or knew beforehand what he intended to say.
“On the contrary, I came because the baroness desires to renew the lease. She has learned how kind to the poor your worship is, and offers the castle and park at half the rent paid heretofore.” He fancied this would melt the haughty lord of the castle, but it seemed to increase his hauteur.
“Thanks,” frigidly responded the count. “If the baroness thinks the rent too high, she will find in her own neighborhood poor people whom she can assist. I shall continue to pay the same rent I paid to the former owner.”
“Then my business will be easily settled. I have brought my clerk with me; he can write out the necessary papers, and the matter can be concluded at once.”
“Thank you very much,” returned the count, but without offering to shake hands. Instead, he kept his arms crossed behind his back.
“Before we proceed to business,” resumed the vice-palatine, “I must tell your worship an anecdote. A professor once told his pupils that he knew everything. Shortly afterward he asked one of the lads what his name was. ‘Why,’ responded the youth, ‘how does it come that you don’t know my name—you who know everything?’ ”
“I cannot see why you thought it necessary to relate this anecdote to me,” observed the count, without a smile.
“I introduce it because I am compelled to inquire your worship’s name and title, in order to draw up the contracts properly.”
This, then, was the strategem by which he proposed to learn the name which no one yet had been able to decipher on the count’s letters?
The count gazed fixedly for several seconds at his questioner, then replied quietly:
“My name is Count Ludwig Vavel de Versay—with a y after the a.”
“Thanks. I shall not forget it; I have a very good memory,” said Herr Bernat, who was perfectly satisfied with his success. “Allow me, also, to inquire the family name of the worshipful Frau Countess?”
At this question the count at last removed his hands from his back, and with the sort of gesture a man makes who would tear asunder an adversary. At the same time he cast upon Herr Bernat a glance that reminded the valiant official of the royal commissioner, as well as of his energetic spouse at home. The angry man seemed to have increased a head in stature.
Instead of replying to the question, he turned on his heel and strode from the room, leaving his visitor standing in the middle of the floor. Herr Bernat was perplexed; he did not know what to do next. Was it not quite natural to ask the name of a man’s wife when a legal contract was to be written? His question, therefore, had not been an insult.