All
such questions, however, he used to evade in a corresponding tone of
jocularity. But once when Kengyelesy inquired seriously why he never
approached Baroness Hatszegi and at the same time reproached him for his
want of feeling in so obstinately keeping out of the poor lady's way,
Szilard replied: "I am not one of those who can be thrown away to-day
and picked up again to-morrow."
After that the count never mentioned Henrietta's name in Szilard's
presence again--and who knows whether there was not some impediment
between these two from which no sacrament could absolve them. Who knows
whether it might not after all have been as well for Vamhidy to avoid
any meeting whatever with--the widow of the late Baron Hatszegi?
Yet it was she who was, in any case, the most wretched of them all.
Although only six and twenty she could already be called an old woman.
She was the victim of her shattered nerves night and day. The least
noise made her tremble. The opening of a door was sufficient to make her
start up. When she was only four and twenty she had already given up
plucking out her grey hairs, there were so many of them. She found no
relaxation in the society of her fellows and therefore avoided all
social gatherings. Most of her time she spent at home, sitting all by
herself in the remotest chamber of the house, half of whose wall was by
this time overgrown by the asclepia which Szilard had given her ages
ago--or so it seemed to her.
Pages:
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395