It was a singular conclave—that assembled in one of the rooms of Kossuth’s residence in Saint John’s Wood.
It consisted of eight individuals; every one of whom bore a title either hereditary or honourably acquired.
All were names well-known, most of them highly distinguished. Two were counts of Hungary, of its noblest blood—one a baron of the same kingdom; while three were general officers, each of whom had commanded a corps d’armée.
The seventh, and lowest in rank, was a simple captain—Maynard himself.
And the eighth—who was he?
A man dressed in the costume of a valet, holding in his hand a cockaded hat, as if about to take departure from the place.
It was curious to observe the others as they sate or stood around this semblance of a lacquey; counts, barons, and generals, all like him, hats in hand; not like him intending departure. They were only uncovered out of respect!
They talked with him in a tone not obsequious, though still in the way one speaks to a superior; while his answers were received with a deference that spoke of the truest esteem!
If there ever was proof of a man’s greatness, it is when his associates in prosperity honour him alike in the hour of his adversity.
And such was the case with the ex-dictator of Hungary, for it is scarce necessary to say that the disguised valet was Kossuth.