"And now comes Count Sárosdy, the főispán. He is a worthy, good-natured man, but a frightful aristocrat. It delights him to do good to the peasants and the poor, but don't ask him to make the acquaintance of his fellow-men. No tenantry in the whole of Hungary is better off than his, but he will not have a non-noble person in his service even as a clerk. You will find he will be a little stiff towards you at first, but fortunately he has a good heart, and there are always keys wherewith to open a good heart. It will be no easy matter to win him over to more liberal sentiments, but if we both combine against him, victory will be assured.
"And now we come to the young originals."
"Oh," said Fanny, "I shall understand that class better than you do! I know more about them already than I like."
"Last of all come the fine gentlemen. I need not tell you about them either; so we can pass on to the ladies."
"Oh yes, let us discuss the ladies by all means!"
"First of all comes the wife of the aristocratic főispán. She is a cockered, discontented dame, who has swooned as many times as other women have sighed. You might stand upon burning embers more comfortably than before her; for you may be sure that she will not approve of anything you may say, do, or even think. If any one crosses his legs in her presence, she faints; if a cat strays into the room, she will have convulsions; if a knife is put across a fork, she will not sit down to table; if there are roses outside in the garden, she will perceive the smell through double window-panes, and faint, so that no flowers can be kept in the room where she may happen to be. You must not let anybody in a blue dress sit down at the same table as herself, for that colour is horrible to her, and she has convulsions the moment she sees it. Finally, you will do well to talk of nothing at all in her presence, for the slightest thing is likely to upset her nerves.
"Ah! next comes the Countess Kereszty. She is an excellent woman. She has a tall, muscular, masculine figure, with thick, broad eyebrows. She never speaks in a voice lower than what is usually required for commanding a regiment; while her gruffest voice is sufficient to utterly embarrass a nervous man, especially as she has a trick of perpetually interrupting the person talking to her with her 'How—why—wherefore's?' and, when she begins to laugh, the whole room trembles. She dragoons every assembly which she honours with her presence; and whomsoever she is angry with had much better have been born blind. Our very young men have a cold ague fit when they see
her, for she inspires them with as much terror as any professor, and, besides that, can speak fluent Latin, has the code at her fingers' ends, can hold her own against the most astute of advocates, drinks like a fish, and revels in tobacco. It is true she does not drive her own horses; but, should the coachman drive badly, she is quite capable of snatching the whip from his hand and belabouring him with the handle. For the rest, she is the best-hearted creature in the world, and readily makes friends. Kiss her hand, and call her 'My lady sister,' and you need not have the slightest fear of her; for she will love you, make herself your champion, and woe betide whomsoever dares to disparage you behind your back when she is present, for she will make them stampede in every direction.
"And now we come to Lady Szépkiesdy. She is a quiet, silent woman, whom it is impossible to offend. Her husband has found out from experience that nothing pains her; but, on the other hand, there is nothing that can make her happy. And her whole face, her whole figure, seems to express but one wish, but one desire—the longing to be under the sod as soon as possible."