"Banfi! you are killing me!"
Banfi himself seemed aghast at this cry, and turning round in the very act of quitting the room, cast a glance at his wife.
He did not perceive that at that moment the door opened and some one entered; he only saw that his wife's agonized countenance was suddenly distorted by an unspeakably painful smile. A forced smile on those convulsed features was something too terrible. Banfi thought at first that his wife had gone mad.
The next instant Dame Banfi rose impetuously from her chair, and exclaiming, "Anna! my darling Anna!" rushed towards the door.
It was then that Banfi turned round, and saw before him Anna Bornemissa, the consort of Michael Apafi. That lady's sharp eyes instantly detected the agitation of the consorts, though they both did their best to hide it, and not without success. But she made as though she saw nothing, and drawing Margaret to her breast, kindly held out her hand to Banfi.
"I heard your voices outside," said she, "so I came in without waiting to be announced."
"Ah, yes ... we were ... laughing," said Dame Banfi, covertly wiping her eyes with the corner of her pocket-handkerchief.
"And to what circumstances do we owe this extraordinary piece of good fortune?" asked Banfi, concealing his embarrassment behind an exaggerated courtesy.
"As you did not bring my sister to see me," returned the Princess, with a reproachful smile, "I thought I would just visit my poor exiled Hungarian kinswoman myself."
Banfi felt the sting of these last words, and murmured as he stroked his beard—