"That is not possible," resumed the baron, answering his own query, "for
I myself saw the blow which Makkabesku received on the head from the
butt of the musket, and I can tell your ladyship that there are no four
thousand ducats in the world for the sake of which I could lend my head
to such a blow."
The countess interrupted her _roulades_ for a moment:
"You saw it, eh? And did anybody else see it?"
Hatszegi was strangely surprised by this question.
"What is in your mind, Countess?" he asked.
"I am thinking, my dear friend, that you have some particular reason for
playing the injured man, and I have read the whole tale of the Maccabees
in some history or other of the Jews which you would now palm off upon
the world as something new."
"Your jests are most unmerciful, Countess; but may I beg of you to give
that piano a little rest, especially as it wants tuning. I should like
to speak seriously to you for a moment or two."
"About the Maccabees, eh?" enquired the countess, laughing.
"No. About myself. I am quite serious when I say I have had losses.
Your ladyship need not know how. But for all that I know what a
gentleman ought to do after such a revelation as that with which the
countess has just honoured me and which I accept as a most flattering
mark of confidence."
"Impossible."
"What I say is never impossible; but what that student fellow has chosen
to palm off on your ladyship that _is_ impossible.
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