As before, the countess stepped forward, smiling, and led me to her husband.
"Arnim dear," said she sweetly, "this is Captain Botskay, whom a lucky chance has sent us as a guest."
While she spoke, I gazed with the deepest emotion at the count.
He partly sat, partly reclined in a wheeled chair drawn close to the table.
He was a wonderfully handsome and athletic-looking man, with a massive, well-shaped head firmly set on broad, sturdy shoulders. His face was frank and open, his eyes smiled, though with a suggestion of sadness, his mouth was firm, his chin square and determined.
I pictured him charging at the head of a squadron of horse, and thought what a magnificent cavalry leader he would make. As it happened, the poor fellow could not cross the room, could not put foot to the ground, could not move a single muscle of his legs; from the waist downwards he was practically dead. Yet he made no moan, no complaint, but once, and then it was to regret that his infirmity prevented him from joining Görgei.
"Forgive my apparent lack of courtesy, Captain Botskay," said he; "but I am somewhat of an invalid, and my wife kindly does the honours of the house in my stead."
"I shall not readily forget madam's kindness," I replied.
"Nay," answered the countess, "it is we who are your debtors, since you will be able to tell my husband the truth about the war; but first we will have supper," and she rang the bell.
I was certainly very hungry, and did ample justice to the good things placed before me, while the pleasure was heightened by the appearance of the table with its cloth of snowy whiteness, beautifully-cut glasses, nicely-chased silver, and tastefully-arranged flowers.