He went to see Dinora as soon as the papers were ready. Telling her that he was horrified at the ‘impertinence’ of the bank in ‘daring’ to ask anything from her, he explained that if she signed the papers he had brought with him, all would be settled and she would never hear from the bank again. It was monstrous, he said, and explained that with the prolongation papers and the two new six thousand crown drafts, the amortization would be paid off and he would be able to arrange everything for her. Dinora was delighted; she felt a great load had been taken off her mind and even went so far as to show her gratitude by kissing him as soon as she had finished signing the papers. Wickwitz, for all his slowness in some matters, was never behind-hand when he sensed that he had the advantage with a woman, at once gathered the little countess in his strong athlete’s arms and made it abundantly clear that he would like to express his gratitude even more lovingly. Dinora did not resist. It was not bad, she said to herself, even if she did not love her Nitwit any more … and so, after he left, she sat down at her writing desk and addressed a note to Abady on her oddly-shaped lilac-coloured writing paper:
Little Boy! (Doyou remember, darling?)
Everything I told you of the other day has been arranged. It was all just a muddle, a misunderstanding! Wickwitz has paid in full. Don’t think too badly of him. When shall I see you? You know you are always welcome. Tihamer and I are going to Budapest in a few days as everyone here is so beastly to me …though I don’t care!
Lots of kisses and …well no! That’s enough for now. Dinora
Balint received the letter the following day and though he had no idea how Wickwitz could possibly have raised the money, he was so glad that this unsavoury matter had been settled that he did not look for any further explanation but dismissed the matter from his mind.
As it happened he received another letter by the same post which immediately occupied his entire attention. It was from Count Slawata, and was far more mysterious and absorbing than Dinora’s little note. Slawata wrote that it seemed as if matters in Hungary had reached an impasse, with relations between the sovereign and the majority party daily becoming worse. He referred to the government’s difficulties, how impossible it was for Tisza’s cabinet to rule when powerless in the face of an opposition majority in Parliament, how the cabinet was constantly trying to resign, how there was no question of recalling Parliament until a solution had been found to the major problem, etc., etc. None of what he wrote was new to Balint: he had seen it all for himself when he had last been in Budapest. But now a sentence occurred that aroused Balint’s suspicions. ‘Since we shall never give in on the army question,’ wrote Slawata, ‘we will have to find a solution somewhere that these rich demagogues will never think of looking. Salus populi suprema est lex — the good of the people is the supreme law.’
After dropping this sinister hint, Slawata went on to say that he believed Abady to share his opinion and he finished his letter by saying that he would be coming to Budapest towards the end of March and would look forward to meeting him again then. ‘Ich könnte DirmanchesInteressantesagen — I have something most interesting to tell you,’ he wrote.
Balint was annoyed with himself for saying nothing when Slawata had taken him into his confidence at the shooting party at Simonvasar. If he had not wanted it to be assumed that he was in sympathy, he should have said so at once; and now, receiving Slawata’s letter which clearly showed that he assumed Balint to belong to the faction that surrounded the Heir, Balint knew he must at once put a stop to any suggestion that he had the smallest sympathy with Slawata’s views. It had been useful to have a glimpse of the future ruler’s plans, but if he allowed himself further contact with Slawata the plotters in the Belvedere Palais would take it as confirmation that he was on their side.
Balint decided quickly what to do. He sat down without delay and wrote, rather coldly, that as his private affairs would keep him in Transylvania for the present he was obliged to deny himself the pleasure of coming to Budapest at the time of Slawata’s visit.
Having written this, Balint had to find some reason to justify his staying on. If he were to remain in Transylvania until Parliament was recalled, and this seemed the only sure way of avoiding even a chance encounter with Slawata, he would have to find some genuine activity that would keep him in the country. In the month of March there was nothing he could do to further his forestry plans on the mountain estate. It would have to be something else. At this point his formerly vague ideas for starting a co-operative at Lelbanya came back to him so clearly that during the course of his visit to Adrienne the next afternoon he settled nearly all the details in his mind. After their first embrace and when they had spent a few precious moments in each other’s arms, Balint started to tell Adrienne about his plans and ideas. He was amazed by how interested she was; she seemed as involved as she had always been in the scientific and literary subjects they used to discuss so eagerly together. Now Balint, fired by her enthusiasm, found his ideas coming more swiftly to him, his explanations becoming ever more fluent and more cogent.
That afternoon he stayed at the Uzdy house for longer than usual. As before they lay together, entwined in a brotherly embrace on the cushions in front of the fire, but today he spoke eagerly, though in a completely matter-of-fact manner, about the advantages to the people of different co-operative systems, and Adrienne drank it all in. He had already recalled that his mother owned a small town house and property at Lelbanya which might serve as the nerve centre of this project. Now it was obvious to him how best to use it: two of the rooms would be enough for the Co-operative Centre while the rest would serve for the Farmers’ Club and Library. The grounds would be quite adequate for a model market garden.
As Balint explained all his ideas to Adrienne, so did his plans become formed into a cohesive and practicable proposition. Now, in her arms in the darkening room, Balint knew that he had made up his mind what he was going to do. At the same time, however, as his conscious being was apparently totally concentrated on working out the best way of forming a farmers’ co-operative, so unconsciously within him his male instincts were becoming gradually awakened and alert as he stroked Adrienne’s bare arm, or her foot, ankle or elbow, whichever part of her was closest to him. And all the while he talked without any hesitation of how he could best help the people in his constituency.