"I didn't do it for payment."
Madame Bálnokházy laughed modestly, as though in doubt whether to understand a joke when the inhabitants of higher spheres were under consideration.
"Dear uncle, you are still as jesting as ever in certain respects."
"As godless—you wished to say, did you not? Indeed I have changed but little in my old age."
"Oh we know you well!" said the lady in a voice of absolute grace: "you only show that outwardly, but everyone knows your heart."
"And runs before it when he can, does he not?"
"Oh, no: quite the contrary," said Madame apologetically, "don't misinterpret our present departures to prove how much we all think of that beneficial public life which you are leading. I shall whisper one word to you, which will convince you of our most sincere respect for you."
That one word she did whisper to Topándy, resting her gloved hand on his shoulder—:
"I wish to ask my dear uncle to give Melanie away, when Heaven brings round the happy day."
At these words Topándy smiled: and, putting Madame Bálnokházy's hand under his arm, said: