"Allow me to present my husband," began the lady.
"Whist! don't tell my name," interrupted the gentleman in the fur cloak; "let me see if my dear cousin remembers me," and laughing heartily, he seized both of Uncle Lorincz's hands, and waited for him to remember.
It was rather an embarrassing situation for Uncle Lorincz, who had not the slightest recollection of ever having seen his dear cousin before.
"Pooh! how can he recognise you in that cap?" cried his faithful partner, snatching from her husband's head the prodigious two-eared fur cap, and exposing a good-natured countenance, with a large, bald forehead, and features which we meet in a thousand faces, without ever distinguishing one from the other.
"Ay, do you know me now?" asked the worthy gentleman in a tone of confidence.
Uncle Lorincz blushed to the ears, and would have given his best meerschaum to have been helped out of the unpleasant dilemma.
"Oh! certainly, I remember—quite well," he replied, rubbing his forehead with the tip of his forefinger; "perfectly remember; only the name will not come into my head."
"Well, do you remember when we sat together at the Gyor elections in 1830?"
"Exactly, the name is on the tip of my tongue."
Among the four thousand people who had assembled for the Raab elections ten years before, it would have been difficult to recall the features of one in particular.