But I was not to remain in doubt long. A new visitor arrived, his voice was already heard in the ante-chamber. It was Muki Bagotay.
It was plain to me now that it was he who had whispered all these things to Bessy.
Into the room he rushed. He certainly was infamously handsome. My head of curls was quite dwarfed by his. His dress was much more fashionable than mine. And what a cocksure air he had! I dared not so much as press Bessy's hand, while he knelt down before her and laid his hat—together with his heart—at her feet.
"Go away with you—don't be silly!" said Bessy, by way of correction, pointing at me.
"Your servant, comrade," cried Muki, becoming aware of my presence.
Then he occupied himself with me no more, but turned towards Bessy and tried to remove the handkerchief from the embroidery, which attempt Bessy resisted with all her might.
"It's mine, after all, you know," insisted Muki.
"Then wait your turn, and you shall have it on your birthday."
His birthday! A thought flashed through my brain. Muki's name was János. That initial letter was his, not mine.
A dramatic climax. How instantly Muki became the sensible fellow and I the blockhead! At that moment I must have cut a somewhat queer figure the very type of gaping confusion.