"That is possible. But then there ought to be some list, or something else relating to it. Let me look it over again."
Great heavens! she took everything out again, and searched for a last year's exchange list. A crumbled yellow newspaper clipping was found, and then the whole process had to be repeated again; and now thank God, the million came out even! I drew a great sigh of relief; but I had triumphed too soon. She asked for pen and ink, and, as I got up from the seat before the writing-desk, she sat down and wrote on each of the bonds, deeds, obligations, mortgages, etc., her own name—"Flamma Maria Dumany of Dumanyfalva, née Countess Vernöczy of Vranicsa," in a clear, almost masculine hand.
"What is the use of this, dearest?" I asked.
"You know," she replied, "all these papers, as yet, bear the name of my grandfather, and we could not realise upon them as they are. I must first write my own name upon each."
"But we do not want to realise on them."
"That you don't know—at present."
"But there would be time for this on some future day."
"No. Pray compose yourself. I have to finish this now."
And she did finish it. On two hundred different securities she wrote, in bold, large letters, her full name, and I stood there and looked on in helpless despair.
At last there was an end of it. She put the papers in the chest again, handed me the key, and begged me to lock everything up in the safe. I obeyed, in the ardent hope that at last I had done with papers and accounts.