“What a voice the chap has when he pleases!” interposed the jockey; “what is he saying?”
“Merely that he is a Hungarian,” said I; but I added, “the conversation of this gentleman and myself in a language which you can’t understand must be very tedious to you, we had better give it up.”
“Keep on with it,” said the jockey, “I shall go on listening very contentedly till I fall asleep, no bad thing to do at most times.”
CHAPTER XXXIX
The Hungarian.
“Then you are a countryman of Tekeli, and of the queen who made the celebrated water,” said I, speaking to the Hungarian in German, which I was able to do tolerably well, owing to my having translated the Publisher’s philosophy into that language, always provided I did not attempt to say much at a time.
Hungarian. Ah! you have heard of Tekeli, and of L’eau de la Reine d’Hongrie. How is that?
Myself. I have seen a play acted, founded on the exploits of Tekeli, and have read Pigault Le Brun’s beautiful romance, entitled the “Barons of Felsheim,” in which he is mentioned. As for the water, I have heard a lady, the wife of a master of mine, speak of it.
Hungarian. Was she handsome?
Myself. Very.