"Some years ago, when you were intimate with the Retys, I used to see more of you."
Tengelyi looked displeased.
"Pardon me," added the count, "if I have pained you by reminding you of that time."
"On the contrary, I feel truly honoured that your Excellency should have remembered my humble self, painfully though I feel that my influence does not stretch to the length of my gratitude."
There was a hidden sting of bitterness in Tengelyi's words, and especially in the tone in which they were delivered. The count continued:—
"What I ask—or rather what I crave of you—has nothing to do with influence. It rests solely with you to grant my suit, and to oblige me for all time to come."
Tengelyi cast a glance of suspicion at the great man. "Your Excellency," said he, drily, "may rely on me, if your command can be reconciled to my principles."
"I know you too well, and respect you too much to express any other wish. What I ask of you will convince you how deeply sensible I am of your merits."
Tengelyi bowed.
"I know," continued the count, "that you are au fait of the condition of the county. Your office brings you in contact with the lower classes. You see and hear many things which a lord-lieutenant can never know. Speak freely to me, I pray, and be assured that to advise me is an act of charity."