personage of remarkable consideration in the highest circles, and enjoyed a position of distinction there peculiarly his own.
The worthy cavalier—I mean Mr. Kecskerey—had just drawn Rudolf underneath a chandelier, whether that people might see them together there, or whether he himself might see Rudolf better, I cannot say. The two young belles, the queens of the ball, were walking in front of them, arm-in-arm. How beautiful they both were!
"What a pair!" cried Kecskerey, rapturously. "To which of them would that wretched mythological Paris have given the apple of Eris, if he had had to choose between two such goddesses? And how they walk, arm-in-arm. A true belle alliance! Nay, I express myself badly, I ought to say affreuse alliance! Why, separately they are capable of subjugating the world! Why need they combine their charms? My friend, beware of this dangerous alliance; Madame Kárpáthy is a splendid woman."
"My wife is the prettier," replied Rudolf, with mild self-satisfaction.
"I honour you for that word, Rudolf. You are indeed a tender husband! But your wife really is an angel. Madame Kárpáthy pales before her. Hers is not the beauty which can interest men of genius, she is too sensitive."
"Nay, nay; I will not have you depreciate her in order to cry up my wife. On the contrary, I admit that Madame Kárpáthy is a very beautiful woman; indeed to some person's tastes, she might appear the ideal of loveliness."
"Yes, true; poor Abellino, for instance, at one time, would scarce allow that a more beautiful woman had been born into the world since Helen of Troy or Ninon d'Enclos. He was quite mad about her; ruined himself, in fact, because of her. He spent sixty thousand florins upon her."
"What do you mean by that?" inquired Rudolf, much offended.
Kecskerey laughed good-humouredly. "Ma foi! that is a vain question from you, Rudolf. As if you did not know that it is usual to spend something on young women."