"Here's one right at the top," said Lady Szentirmay, "let us begin with him. If he were an ordinary man instead of a nobleman, they would call him badly behaved. He thinks ill of every woman except his own wife, for of her he never thinks at all, and is violent and passionate besides. When he flies into a rage he does not pick his words, nor looks about to see whether women or only men are near. In the most mixed society, where two or three young girls at least must be present, he tells such queer stories that even the more sensitive of the men cannot but blush. Yet he is a great patriot, whose name is well known and admired; so he claims respect, and must not be
blamed like other men. The respect in which he is held, however, is the best weapon to use against him. He will pay court to you impetuously, and you will not be able to avoid him; but all you have to do is to praise him for his political virtues. That always holds him in check. I have tried it, and never known it to fail."
"Let's tick him off," said Fanny. "Count Imre Szépkiesdy: that's his name, is it?"—and she underscored him with her lead pencil, and wrote underneath, "A great and very estimable man!"
"Here comes another high and mighty gentleman," resumed the Countess. "If he had not a title, I don't know that the world would recognize him at all. I have never been able to discover what qualities he possesses, though I have the privilege of meeting him once a month. One thing, however, I can label him with: he has a tremendous appetite, and yet is always complaining that he cannot eat. He is a very amiable man: before dinner he complains that he has no appetite, and after dinner that he has over-eaten himself, and if you don't offer him anything he sulks and starves. He doesn't give much trouble therefore."
"Let us write after his name then: 'Baron George Málnay, an amiable man.'"
"Here is a dear silly, Count Gregory Erdey. He is the most delightful fellow in the world, and can keep the whole company in convulsions with his quips and cranks. He can imitate the absurdities of costume of every nation, and can present you with an Englishman, a Spaniard, a Frenchman, and a Jew by a mere twist of his hat. The very simplicity of his absurdity makes him the most harmless of men. You cannot imagine him giving offence to any one. He would be incapable of deceiving a girl of sixteen. His whole ambition is to make people laugh, and all the lovers of laughter are on his side."
"Count Gregory Erdey," Fanny noted down, "a dear silly."
"Let us proceed. Count Karvay Louis, a true man of the world à la Talleyrand. He observes every one, and is very particular that every one should observe him. He only puts a question to you in order to discover how far you are unable to answer him—it is a positive trap, the consequences of which you cannot possibly foresee. Then he has a trick of sulking for a whole year without saying why; the merest trifle, a letter to him misdirected, is sufficient to upset him till his dying day. If any one comes to see you when he is with you, and this somebody should be lower in rank than himself, and you should sin against the rules of etiquette by rising from your seat instead of merely bowing—Louis will lose his temper, and say that you have insulted him. And yet he will never give any one a hint as to what is likely to offend him and what not."
"Well, let us write under his name, 'a prickly gentleman.'"