After this we decided to leave Europe and go to the New World—to America. My old Slav kingdom I did not care to keep; it was best to give up everything, and wipe out all memory of myself. So I left it to be sold in payment of the debts I had accumulated. In the New World fortune clung to me with the same persistence. Whatever I undertook was sure to succeed, and all my enterprises were fortunate. So, in course of time, I became the "Silver King." We came to Europe on account of little James, who all at once ceased speaking and became a mute. We tried American physicians, but to no purpose, and so we came to Europe in order to consult the best professional talent. Now you know all. You know how it was possible for the little son of a South American nabob, after regaining his lost speech, to speak Hungarian, and you know who taught him to speak that language. The child has never loved anyone but me, and no one has loved him but myself. And I love him truly and with all my heart. For to him I am indebted for all my present happiness; not only for my wealth, for wealth alone is not happiness. A man may be happy without wealth, and be very unhappy with it; but I owe him this.
He took a photograph from his pocket-book, and showed it to me—four laughing little cherub heads, peeping out of a bath-tub, like birds from the nest. "These my little James has brought me," he said, with tears of joy in his eyes; "if he had not come, these would not have come either. So, you see, my dear friend, I was thrown into Hell and fell into Paradise."
"I beg your pardon," said I to Mr. Dumany, as he finished his story, "but I am curious to know what became of Siegfried? Would you mind telling me?"
"Oh, he is a very famous man at present, and fills a very honourable position. He is engaged as horse-tamer in the Paris Hippodrome, and they say that he is excellent in 'jumping.' I have not seen him yet, but I hear he has a good salary, and is a general favourite. He is very much praised and admired by those who have seen him. I think it highly creditable in a man when he lives honourably by means of his ability and talent."
By this time the dawn had greeted us. Through the chinks of the closed shutters the rising sun was stealing, decorating the wall-tapestry with rings of golden red, adding radiant circles to the smoke-wreaths of our cigarettes, and sending long glittering darts into all the corners and behind the curtains.
Presently, breaking the monotony of our voices, which punch and cognac had made hoarse, a sweet, silvery voice chimed in, "Apácska! Apácska!" ("Papa! Papa!") and a little unfledged cherub was peeping out from the bed-curtains. "You may come to me," said Mr. Dumany, smilingly, and, in an instant, little James was out of bed, and, barefooted, in his little nightgown as he was, he ran to his father, shouting with glee, climbing up into his lap, and throwing his little arms caressingly around his neck, laughing mischievously the while. At the noise of this babbling and laughter, similar sounds were heard in the next room, just as in a bird's nest when one little fledgeling chirps all the rest join in, lifting the little heads and trying the winglets.
"Reveille is sounded," said my friend, with a happy smile. "I have to go and muster my troops; this next chamber is their bedroom."
But the muster was postponed, for the commander-in-chief arrived—the mother. She was in a plain, dark dress, but her beautiful face bore a soft expression of happiness which I had not seen the day before. "You are up yet?" she asked.