"
"That is not true," interrupted Gerzson, his whole face purple with
rage.
"What is not true?"
"Where is the baroness?"
"Stop, stop, my friend! Don't run away! You'll never catch her up, for,
early this morning, she drove back to Hidvar in a postchaise with her
husband."
"That can not be true. Did you see her?"
"I saw her through my own field glass. But we all saw her--did we not,
gentlemen?"
Many of those present admitted that they had indeed seen the baroness.
"But my dear fellow," said the perturbed Gerzson, "this is no joke. On
the contrary, my adventure with the baroness is somewhat tragical, and
I'll trouble you to expend no more of your feeble witticisms on me."
Kengyelesy shrugged his shoulders. "I did not know you would take it so
seriously, but so it is."
"From whom did you hear all this, from the baroness?"
"No--from Hatszegi."
An idea suddenly flashed through Gerzson's brain.
"Did you speak to the baroness herself?"
"No. I only saw her through the carriage window when they drove away."
"Was she veiled?"
"No, my friend. It was her very self I assure you."
"Thank you. And now, if you like, you can go on amusing yourself at my
expense. Adieu!"
Only when he had got home and flung himself on the sofa in a state of
stupor, did he begin to reflect a little calmly on what he had heard.
There was so much about the affair that was startling and
incomprehensible, true and untrue, probable, incredible, shameful and
exasperating, that he could make neither head nor tail of it.
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