All along the route from the railway station the windows were crowded by richly-dressed ladies and children, craning their necks to catch the first sight of the hero.
As our regiment marched to take its place, I could not help thinking of the many ruined families and the hundreds of wounded soldiers to whom this pageant must seem little more than a hollow mockery.
"I don't think this triumphal entry shows good taste on his part," I remarked to Dobozy, after we had halted.
"Suit him capitally!" declared he. "It's just like a stage-play. Did you hear how he is coming from Szolnok?"
"By rail, I suppose."
"Yes, and in the emperor's private carriage. Anything's good enough for a thorough-paced republican."
"I suppose his wife accompanies him?"
Dobozy laughed and said we should see.
Suddenly the guns roared out their brazen welcome; the people, waving their flags, cheered loudly; the bands played Rakotzy's patriotic march, and a company of guards issued from the station. Then the cheering became louder and wilder, and shouts of "Elijen Kossuth!" rose as Count Karoly's handsome chariot, drawn by four magnificent Hungarian horses, made its appearance. In it, his head crowned with laurel, sat the observed of all beholders, Louis Kossuth, Dictator of Hungary, and on his right a tall, haughty-looking woman with black hair and eyes, pointed nose, long chin, and regular mouth.
This was the dictator's wife, Madame Theresa Kossuth, and I thought, though perhaps wrongly, that the light in her eyes was one of satisfied pride.