"Then tell me how the right honourable Dumany Kornel, a member of the Hungarian landed gentry, and also of the medical profession, if I rightly remember, a rather fast-living bachelor, and rejected Commoner, has been metamorphosed into Cornelius Dumany, the Silver King, the South American nabob, the matador of the Bourse, husband of a beautiful countess, and father of five children, within such a short period. Tell me this, for it is the only gratification I shall accept."
"And let me tell you, dear friend, it is the highest I could give," was his reply. "In fact, you have presented me such a draft that, in spite of all my wealth, I am unable to pay it at sight. I have to ask my wife's permission first. The story you want me to tell is but one half my own, the other half belongs to my wife, and you must allow me to ask her leave;" and, bowing to me, he left the room.
I was alone. No, not alone. From behind the bed-curtains issued a heavy groaning, as if the little sleeper were troubled with bad dreams. I went to him and lifted the hangings. The glare of the light awakened him, and he cried out, "Apa!" ("Papa!")
"Papa will come presently, my little one," I said in Hungarian, and he smiled happily.
"Oh, the Hungarian uncle!" he said, "that's nice;" and, taking hold of my hand, he caressingly laid his little, soft cheek on it.
"Have you been troubled in your sleep?" I asked.
"Yes," he said; "I was dumb again, although I wanted to speak and tried very hard. A snake was coiled around my neck, and choked me. There is no snake in this room? Or is there?"
"No. Don't be afraid of anything. Try to sleep again."
"Stay always. Papa would like it. He always used to say, 'Speak to me, my boy, only to me! I have nobody but thee to speak to me in our own Hungarian;' and now he has you also. How glad he must be of it! You will stay?--promise!"
I promised him to stay a long time, and, holding fast to my hand, he fell asleep again.
When Mr. Du Many, or rather Dumany, returned to me, I was sitting before the grate, musing over what the child's innocent prattle had revealed to me--the tender, loving recollection this man had of his home and the sweet sounds of our beloved mother tongue.
He came in with an animated face. "My wife has consented," he said. "She told me that it was confession-time. To-morrow she will confess to Father Augustin, and this evening I shall make you my confessor. Now that I have made up my mind to it, I really think that, even from a practical point of view, it would be much better if the truth should be known about us, rather than those wild, fanciful stories reported by gossiping American newspapers."