POOR LADY!
Poor lady!
The poor lady I mean is Madame Kárpáthy. She had got a husband, and
along with him enormous wealth and a monstrously grand name, both rather
burdens than blessings as a rule.
The day does not dawn twice for the richest man, and all the treasures
in the world cannot give their possessor peace, joy, love, contentment,
and a good conscience.
And then that illustrious name; what was it after all?
The whole world knew who had inherited that name--an old gentleman with
the reputation of a fool, who, to spite his nephew, had married a girl
belonging to a family of ill-repute. The old gentleman was either very
magnanimous or very foolish. The girl must necessarily be frivolous and
forward. Every one was ready to believe the worst of her beforehand.
Poor lady!
Fanny naturally felt miserable and lonely. There was nobody about her,
no friend of her own age and sex in whom she could confide, and she knew
not where to look for such a treasure. And yet one day she found a
confidant where she least expected it. Her husband had resolved to have
a house-warming in her honour, and had had a list made of the intended
guests which he sent to her for her approval, by the hands of old Mr.
Varga, the steward. This particular piece of attention showed, moreover,
how polite and condescending Kárpáthy was towards his wife.
Mr. Varga took the list, and, as was his wont on his passage through the
house, continued knocking at every door he came to till he was told to
come in. On perceiving his mistress, he stood on the threshold in an
attitude of the deepest respect, and would very much have liked to have
had there and then an arm long enough to have reached from the door to
the sofa.
Fanny was strangely attracted towards the old man. There are some
persons whom Fortune endows with a cast of countenance which allows you
to read right through their features into their pure and honest souls,
so that you feel confidence in them at the very first glance. Fanny did
not wait for Mr. Varga to come nearer to her, but arose and went to meet
him, took his hand, and, despite the old man's strenuous efforts to bow
low at every step he took, drew him forward, made him sit down in an
armchair, and, in order that he might not get up again, threw her arms
round him in childish fashion, which plunged the old fellow into the
most unutterable confusion. Naturally, the moment Fanny let him go, and
sat down herself, up he sprang again.
"Nay, my dear Mr. Varga, do sit down, or else I must stand up."
"I am not worthy of such an honour," stammered the old steward, very
circumspectly letting himself down into the chair again, as if he were
about to beg pardon for being so bold as to sit in it at all, and
bending forward so that he might not lean upon it too heavily.
"What have you brought me, my dear, good Mr. Varga?" asked Fanny, with a
smile. "If you have brought nothing but yourself, I should be all the
better pleased. Now you can see how pleased I am to see you."
Varga murmured something to the effect that he did not know what he had
done to deserve so much favour, and hastened to hand her the document,
at the same time delivering Squire John's message; then he prepared to
take his leave. But Fanny anticipated him.
"Pray remain," said she. "I have a few questions to put to you."
This was a command, so he felt bound to sit down again. He had never
felt so bad before any other examination. What could her ladyship have
to ask him? He devoutly wished that some other person was sitting there
in his stead.
Fanny took the list and ran her eye down it, and as she did so, her
heart sank within her. There were so many strange names, and all she
knew about them was that they were all the names of great and
illustrious men in high positions, and unexceptionable women. She had
not a single acquaintance among all these women, and had no idea which
of them she would find attractive, or which of them she might have cause
to fear. How was she to comport herself in the society of all these high
and haughty dames? If she put on a bold and confident air, they would
snub her; if she humbled herself before them, they would ridicule her.
They would not credit her with any good qualities. Her very beauty would
make them suspicious of her; a hidden meaning, a secret insinuation,
would lurk behind all the friendly words they addressed to her. Woe to
her if she did not realize this, and woe to her also if she realized it
and did not keep her feelings to herself! Woe to her if she did not give
back as good as she got, and woe to her if she did! Poor lady!
So she ran her eyes down the long list of names before her from end to
end.
How she longed to find among them some good-natured, generous,
tender-hearted woman whom she might look upon as a dear mother--not
another Mrs. Meyer, but a dear ideal mother such as all good people
imagine every mother to be! how she longed, too, to find among them many
a gentle girl, many a young sympathetic damsel whom she might love like
sisters--though not such sisters as hers! But how was she to recognize;
how was she to approach them? how was she to win their hearts, their
confidence?
Again and again she read through the list of names aloud, as if she
would have discovered from the _sound_ of the names the disposition of
their bearers; then she laid it down before her with a sigh, and turned
an inquiring look upon the steward.
"My dear Mr. Varga, pardon me if I trouble you with a question."
Mr. Varga hastened to assure her that he was her most humble servant,
and only awaited her commands.
"But this question is very, very important."
Mr. Varga assured her that he was ready for anything in the world; even
if her ladyship should require him to leap through the window, he was
prepared to do so.
"I am going to ask you a question, to which I require a perfectly
sincere answer. You must be perfectly frank towards me. Fancy yourself
for the moment my dear father, about to give to me, your daughter, good
counsel on the eve of my entering into the world."
She said these words with so much feeling, and in a voice that seemed to
come so directly from the bottom of her heart, that Mr. Varga, for the
life of him, could not help drawing from the inside pocket of his
dolman a checkered cotton pocket-handkerchief, with which he dried his
eyes.
"What is it your ladyship deigns to command?" he inquired, in a voice
that sounded as if every syllable he uttered were shod with as tight
jackboots as the ones he was himself wearing.
"I want you to be so good as to go through all the names written on this
list, one by one, and tell me quite frankly, quite openly, what your
opinion is of each one of them, what their dispositions are, how the
world regards them, which of them are likely to love one, and which are
likely to give one the cold shoulder."
In all his life Mr. Varga had never had to face so rigorous an ordeal.
If Lady Kárpáthy had charged him to call out five or six of the persons
who were down on the list, or take a message to each one of them
individually and to go on foot, or to work out the genealogy of every
one of them in the shortest conceivable space of time, he would have
considered all such commissions as mere trifles compared with what was
required of him now. What! he, the humblest of retainers in his own
estimation, who regarded with such boundless respect every member of the
higher circles that he would have considered himself the most miserable
of men had he failed, in addressing them, to give them every tittle of
their proper titles and designations--he, forsooth, was now to sit in
judgment on these great gentlemen and ladies who did him too much honour
in allowing him to address them at all?
In his despair Mr. Varga scoured the floor with his heel, and his
forehead with the checkered handkerchief.
Fanny, perceiving the confusion of the good old man, turned towards him
with a look of tender encouragement.
"My dear friend, look upon yourself as my father, as the one person whom
I can ask for advice in this new and strange world, of which I know
absolutely nothing. _I_ cannot help looking upon you as my father. Why
are you so good and kind to me?"
The good old man felt his heart fortified by the genuine and touching
sincerity of these words, and, after coughing once more with uncommon
vigour and resolution, by way of a parting adieu to the temptations of
cowardice, and thereby steeling his mind the more, thus replied--
"My lady, you honour me far above my merits by your ladyship's boundless
favour, and I feel myself inexpressibly happy and fortunate when I am
able to do your ladyship any service, however small. And although it is
a hateful thing for such an insignificant person as myself to give his
judgment or opinion concerning such distinguished gentlemen and ladies
as those whose names stand here before me, nevertheless the love--I beg
pardon--the respect I bear towards your ladyship----"
"I like the first word better; let it stand, please!"
"And it is true. I only say what I feel. I also had a daughter once. It
was long, very long ago. She was just of the same age as your ladyship;
not so beautiful, but she was good, ah, so good! She died long ago, in
her youth. And she loved me dearly. But I beg your pardon for making so
bold as to speak of the poor thing. But to turn to the business in hand,
your ladyship--before I proceed to answer the question before me, pray
allow me to make one small remark, by way of advice, which proceeds,
believe me, from the purest intention and the utmost good will. First of
all, I do not consider it necessary that I should speak to your ladyship
at all concerning those persons towards whom--how shall I put
it?--towards whom your ladyship cannot feel the fullest confidence; for
although God preserve me from taking any exception to anything in the
lives of such distinguished gentlemen and ladies, yet, nevertheless,
there may be reasons why it might not be quite desirable for your
ladyship to have any intimate relations with them. On the other hand, I
will pick out from this list such persons as will respond to your
ladyship's goodness and tenderness of heart with equal tenderness of
heart and goodness. Those, again, whom I shall humbly venture to pass
over in silence--and I assume, of course, that they possess in their own
honourable persons every recognized good quality--must be taken to be
such persons as your ladyship would not care about knowing."
"Excellent, excellent, my good friend! You shall make me acquainted with
those only whom I should like, and say nothing about the rest. Ah, you
know the world well. That is indeed good advice."
Mr. Varga looked beseechingly at Fanny, as if to insist that she was not
to praise him too much, or he should get confused again and forget what
he wished to say.
Then he took up the long list, and began to go through it, running his
finger along it, but so as not to touch the names, lest he might offend
their owners by such ignoble contact. Now and then the conducting finger
would pause at a name, and Mr. Varga would look up as if about to speak;
but in the very act of coughing to give the proper shade of respect to
his voice, he would look again at the name singled out by his finger,
think better of it, and tacitly schedule it among those who, though
blessed with all recognized good qualities, he did not think suitable
for his purpose. But as he drew near to the end of the list, he was
horror-stricken to observe how many names he had been obliged to pass
over in silence, and drops of honest sweat began to congregate on his
forehead as the index finger left ever more and more names behind
it--the names of people whom he always treated with the most awful
reverence, but not one of whom he would have recommended to the
confidence of his daughter, if he had had one. And he had now begun to
regard Fanny as his own daughter.
Ah! at last his long-drawn features grew round again with satisfaction,
and his hand trembled on the paper when it reached a name that it had
long been in search of.
"Look, my lady!" said he, extending the list towards her. "This
admirable lady is certainly one of those in whom your ladyship can
repose your confidence without running the risk of being deceived."
Fanny read the name indicated--"Flora Eszéky Szentirmay."
"What is this lady like?" she inquired of the old man.
"Verily, I should have need of very great eloquence to describe her to
you worthily. She is rich in all the virtues one looks for in a woman.
Gentleness and prudence go hand in hand with her. The oppressed and
downtrodden find in her a secret protector; for she does her good deeds
in secret, and forbids grateful tongues to talk about her. Not only is
it the hungry, the naked, the sick, and the wretched among whom she
distributes bread, garments, medicine, and kind words, who know what a
good heart she has; not only is it those under legal sentence, for whom
she pleads compassionately in high places: her benevolence goes much
further than all that; for she takes the part of those who are
spiritually poor and wretched, those whom the world condemns, poor
betrayed girls who have tripped into endless misery, poor women bending
beneath the crosses of a hard domestic life; and they all find in her a
friend, a defender who can get to the bottom of their hearts. Pardon me
for presuming so far. I know right well that there are many other
exalted personages who also do a great deal of good to the poor; but
they seem only to take thought for the bodily wants of the destitute,
whereas this lady cares for their spiritual needs as well, and thus it
comes about that she frequently finds poor sufferers in need of her
assistance, not only in hovels, but in palaces. This lady brings a
blessing into every house she enters, and scatters happiness and
contentment all round about her. Indeed, I only know of one other lady
who is worthy to stand beside her, and nothing would give me greater joy
than to see them both at one with each other."
The emotion written on Fanny's face showed that she appreciated the
tender insinuation.
"Is this lady young?"
"About your ladyship's own age."
"And is she happily married?" Fanny was rather speaking to herself than
asking a question.
"That she is," replied Varga; "indeed, it would not be possible to find
on the whole face of the earth a couple so exactly suited to each other
as she and His Excellency Count Rudolf Szentirmay. Oh, that is a great
man if you like! Every one admires his intellect and his great
qualities, and the whole kingdom praises and exalts him. They say that
at one time he was a man disgusted with life, who troubled himself very
little about his country; but from the moment when he met his future
wife, Flora Eszéky, abroad, a great change came over him, and returning
with her to Hungary, he became the benefactor not only of his country
but of humanity. But even now God has rewarded him, for that greatest of
blessings, domestic happiness, has fallen to his lot so lavishly that
it has become a proverb, and anybody seeing them together would imagine
that Paradise had already begun for them on this earth."
An involuntary, an unconscious sigh arose from Fanny's breast at these
words.
At that moment the rumbling of a coach was audible in the courtyard; a
chance guest had arrived. A great bustling about was heard outside, in
the midst of which resounded Squire John's stentorian voice. He seemed
to be joyfully welcoming some one, and immediately afterwards Martin
entered and announced: "Her Excellency the Countess Flora Eszéky
Szentirmay!"
* * * * *
Fanny, with the trepidation of joy and surprise, awaited the guest who
had just been announced. She had tried to form an idea of her, but what
would this imaginary figure be like in reality?
How the young lady's heart did beat as footsteps drew nearer and nearer
to the door and she heard Kárpáthy cheerfully conversing with some one!
And now the door opened, and in there came--not that face, not that
figure which Fanny had imagined, but a tall, dry lady of uncertain age,
with a false complexion, false teeth, and false eyes, dressed according
to the latest fashion. A monstrous hat covered with whole bouquets of
flowers, quite shut out the prospect of everything that was behind her
back.
Her mantle was thrown back over her shoulders, which gave a martial,
amazonic cast to her figure, and this impression was intensified by the
low cut of her dress, which allowed one to catch a good glimpse of her
scraggy shoulders and projecting breast-bone, an alarming spectacle. She
had hands, moreover, of correspondingly extraordinary leanness,
embellished, why I cannot tell, by monstrously big swanskin muffs, and
as she was unable to move her arms without saying something at the same
time, and as she could never speak without laughing, and as whenever she
laughed she displayed not only the whole of her upper row of teeth (the
best procurable at Dr. Legrieux's, No. 11, Rue Vivienne, Paris), but the
whole of her gums as well, she continually kept the attention of
whatever company she happened to be in riveted with a horrible
fascination on her elbows, her gums, and her breast-bone.
She had come with her niece as a sort of guard of honour, and Flora had
sent her on in front while she lingered behind to rally Squire John a
little.
Kárpáthy hastened to make the ladies known to each other: "Dame Marion
Countess Szentirmay--Countess Rudolf Szentirmay--my wife."
Dame Marion Szentirmay made the lady of the house the most perfect and
unexceptionable curtsy, regarding her all the time with an air that
seemed to say, "I wonder if she knows how to return it, poor little
ignoramus?"
And, in fact, so confused and taken back was Fanny that she scarce knew
what to say; moreover, she was so lost in the contemplation of Dame
Marion's gums that she hardly had had time to observe Flora. But,
indeed, there was no need for her or anybody else to try and find words;
on the contrary, if anybody had had any to spare, he would have had to
keep them to himself, for Dame Marion always brought with her sufficient
conversation to keep a whole assembly going.
"Pray be seated, ladies! You, Lady Flora, sit down here, by my wife.
Dame Marion, a hundred thousand pardons!"
A glance at the lady's face had suddenly convinced Squire John that she
was quite well aware where she ought and meant to sit, without his
telling her; and down she sat accordingly, in an armchair on the other
side of the room.
"I must ask your pardon, my dear neighbour," began Dame Marion, in an
artificial sort of style, belonging to none of the recognized categories
of rhetoric, and which continually suggested the suspicion that the
speaker was rolling something about in her mouth which she was too lazy
to spit out--"I must ask your pardon, _chère voisine_--we live, you
know, close to the Kárpáthy estate in these parts" (_i.e._ It belongs
neither to you nor to your husband, but to the Kárpáthy family)--"for
making so bold as to interrupt you in your occupations" (_i.e._ I should
like to know what _you_ can find to occupy yourself with, forsooth!),
"for although, of course, we ought to have waited for Squire John
Kárpáthy to have introduced us, in the first instance, to the wife so
worthy of his love, which is the regular course" (_i.e._ Perhaps you
don't know that: how could you?), "nevertheless, as we happened to be
passing this way" (_i.e._ Don't imagine we came here on purpose!), "and
I have a long-standing legal suit with Squire John Kárpáthy" (_i.e._ So,
you see, you have to thank me and our suit, for our visit; not Countess
Rudolf's kindness, as you may perhaps suppose)--"and a pretty old suit
it is by this time! for I was young, a mere child, in fact, when it
began, ha, ha!--By the way," she continued, flying off at a tangent,
"they advised us to put an end to the suit by arranging a match between
me and Kárpáthy. I was young then, as I have said--a mere child, ha,
ha!--but I would not entertain the idea, ha, ha! I made a mistake, no
doubt; for how rich should I not have been now, a good _partie_, eh!"
(_i.e._ Squire John was already an old man when I was your age; but I
did not sell myself for his wealth, as you have done!) "Well, you are a
lucky fellow, Kárpáthy, _you_, at any rate, have nothing to complain of.
A wife so worthy of your love as yours is, is a treasure you really do
not deserve" (_i.e._ Don't give yourself airs, you little fool! Don't
fancy people praise you for your beauty as if it were a merit! You ought
to be ashamed that it is only your beauty that has made a lady of you!).
Here Dame Marion lost for a moment the thread of her discourse, which
gave Flora an opportunity of bending over Fanny and whispering in her
ear, in a gentle, confidential voice--
"I have long wished to meet you, and have been on the point of coming
over every day."
Fanny gratefully pressed her hand.
A beneficent attack of coughing here prevented Dame Marion from resuming
her conversation. Kárpáthy inquired after his friend Rudolf, Lady
Flora's husband, expressing the hope that he would not forget his
promise to honour Kárpátfalva with his presence on the occasion of the
entertainment that was coming off there in honour of the young bride.
"Oh, he must be here by then," replied Flora; "he gave me his word that
he would be back home in time for it."
Then turning towards Fanny, Flora continued, "I have been expecting to
meet you everywhere. We country-folks about here are pretty lively, and
are always delighted to see our circle increased; and now that we have
met at last, we will conspire amiably together to make every one around
us feel happy."
Dame Marion, however, at once hastened to weaken any pleasant impression
which these words might have produced.
"Kárpáthy naturally makes a mystery of his wife's whereabouts. The sly
rogue would hide her away, so that nobody may catch a glance of her but
himself"--(_i.e._ the old fool is afraid to show her, and with good
reason).
"Oh, my husband is most kind and obliging," Fanny hastened to object;
"but I must own to feeling a sort of hesitation--I might even call it
fear--at the prospect of appearing in such lofty circles. I was brought
up among quite simple folks, and I feel exceedingly obliged to your
ladyships for giving me so much encouragement."
"Naturally, naturally!" returned Dame Marion. "It is most natural, and
could not very well be otherwise. A young wife is in the most difficult
position conceivable when she first makes her entry into the great
world; especially when, from the nature of the case, she is obliged to
do without what is most necessary for her, what should be her surest
support--a mother's advice, a mother's guidance. Oh, a mother's watchful
providence is of inestimable importance to a young wife!"
Fanny felt her eyes grow burning hot, and her face flushed purple; she
could not help it. Alas! to speak of a mother before her was to cause
her the most terrible torture, the most piercing shame!
Flora convulsively pressed the young lady's hand in her own, and, as if
simply continuing the conversation, she said--
"Yes, indeed; nothing makes up for the loss of a mother."
Shortly afterwards old Kárpáthy and Dame Marion repaired to the family
archives, where the family fiscal and Mr. Varga were awaiting them, in
order to discuss their eternal lawsuit once again for the hundredth time
or so, and the two young women were left alone.
The door had scarce closed behind Dame Marion when Fanny, with the most
passionate impetuosity, suddenly seized Flora's hand with both her own,
and before the latter had had time to prevent her, pressed the pretty
little hand to her lips and covered it with kisses--kisses that came
straight from her burning heart. Again and again she heaped her kisses
upon it, but could not utter a word.
"Ah, my God! what are you doing?" said Flora; and thus, in order to
prevent Fanny from repeating her action, she took her in her arms,
kissed her face, and compelled her to do the same.
"Oh!" sobbed Fanny, "I know that you are the ministering angel of the
whole country-side. As soon as I had arrived here, I heard them talking
of you, and from what they said I could well picture to myself what you
were. You must have already guessed that in me you would find a poor
creature, who was also in need of your charity; but the greatness of
that benefit only I could know, only I could feel. Say not that it is
not so! Permit me to remain in that happy belief! Permit me to go on
loving you as I loved you from the first moment I beheld you. Oh, let me
hold fast to the thought: here is a blessed being who thinks of me,
pities me, and has made me happy!"
"Oh, Fanny!" exclaimed Flora, in a gentle, tremulous voice. She really
did pity the woman.
"Oh yes, yes! call me that!" cried Fanny, full of rapture, as she
impetuously pressed Flora's hand to her heart. She had never released it
for an instant, as if she feared that the moment she let it go the
blissful vision would vanish.
By way of guarantee, Flora pressed her beautiful lips to Fanny's
forehead, and gently bade her, from henceforth, call her Flora and
nothing else. There was to be no more strangeness between them. They
were now to be friends, firm friends.
Only with the greatest difficulty did Lady Szentirmay succeed in
preventing Fanny from flinging herself at her feet; the poor girl had to
be content with hiding her head in Flora's breast and sobbing; and when
she had wept there to her heart's content, then only did she feel happy,
oh so happy!
"Come, come, my dear Fanny!" said Flora at last, with a friendly smile;
"don't you think we have had as much of this as will do us good? Listen
to me! If you promise never to talk about this again, I will remain here
with you a whole--a whole week."
On hearing this it was as much as Fanny could do to prevent herself from
shedding fresh tears, tears of joy.
"And after that I will help you to make the necessary preparations for
the coming housewarming which your husband has resolved to give. Oh, you
would never imagine how much there is to be done, and how weary you
would get over it; but if there are two of us, we shall be able to make
quite a jest of it all, and how we shall both laugh at the many funny
little mishaps which are sure to occur!"
And then the pair of them fell a laughing. Why, of course it would be
one of the funniest, merriest affairs in the world--of course it would.
Meanwhile it afforded Fanny infinite delight to relieve Flora of her
hat, mantle, and every other sort of impoundable article which it is the
custom to deprive arriving guests of, as a greater security against
their running away. Then they sat down together, and the conversation
turned naturally upon women's dress, women's needlework, and other
similar trifles which generally interest gentlewomen, so that by the
time Dame Marion returned with old Kárpáthy from the family archives,
there was no longer any trace of the passionate and touching scene that
had taken place between the two ladies, but they were conversing with
each other like old, like good old, acquaintances.
"Ah, ha!" said Dame Marion, wagging her head when she observed Flora
without hat or mantle. "You are making yourself quite at home, I must
say."
"Yes, aunt; I am going to stay here for a short time with Fanny."
Dame Marion, with an air of astonishment, looked around her into every
corner of the room, and then up at the ceiling, as if she could not make
out who Fanny was.
"Ah! mille pardons, madame. I recollect now, of course, of course--that
is your Christian name. I am quite confused by all the family names with
which Squire Kárpáthy's _director jurium_ has been filling my ears.
Really this Kárpáthy family has quite a frightful lot of connexions. The
female branch is united by marriage with all the most eminent families
in the realm. I verily believe there's not a name in the calendar that
it has not appropriated;" which meant, being interpreted, "_Your_ family
is not very likely to add fresh glory to the Kárpáthy family tree!"
But Flora only laughed good-naturedly, and said--
"Well, now, at any rate, Fanny is a very honourable name in the family
records."
Dame Marion, however, kept standing there in amazement, with her
long-handled parasol in her hand--like Diana might have looked if she
had shot one of her dogs instead of a hare. She could not understand
from whence these people derived so much good humour when she was so
bent upon aggravating them.
"And how long, may I ask, will--this--short--time--be?" she inquired of
Flora, with a biting, staccato sort of intonation, gazing vaguely into
vacancy.
"Oh, a mere bagatelle--only a week, aunty."
"Only a week!" exclaimed Dame Marion, in horror; "only a week!"
"If only I am not kicked out in the mean time," retorted Lady
Szentirmay, jocosely; whereupon Fanny immediately embraced her
affectionately, by way of signifying that she would like to keep her for
ever.
"Ah, indeed!" remarked Dame Marion, petulantly. "Well, well! young women
soon make friends with each other. I am so delighted you have got to
love each other so much all at once--that shows how much your natures
are alike, at which I am charmed. I hope, however, my dear niece, that
you will permit _me_ to return to Szentirma. I hope," continued she,
"that I leave my niece in safe custody, though. I do not know whether
Szentirmay is likely to trouble Kárpáthy Castle very much with his
jealousy. Adieu, my dear neighbour, chère voisine! Adieu, chère nièce,
adieu!"
This ambiguous farewell was capable of a double interpretation, each
alternative of which was equally insulting, as it might be taken to
mean, either that no sane person had any reason whatever to be jealous
of old John Kárpáthy, or that Kárpáthy Castle had such a bad reputation
that no woman's good name was likely to be improved by a residence
within its walls.
No sooner had the old wet blanket disappeared than the two young women,
in the exuberance of their high spirits, took possession of Squire John,
and, singing and dancing, marched him up the stone staircase again into
the castle. Squire John himself was in the best of humours; his face
beamed, he laughed aloud, and he thought to himself what a fine thing it
would have been if both these young women were his daughters and called
him father.
The ancient rooms resounded with the hubbub and innocent frolics of
these two merry young dames. It had been a long long time since those
walls had rung with such a sound as that.