"I forgot to tell you, baroness," he observed, as he seated himself in the chair beside her own, "that with us in this region 'thou' is used only by children and the gypsies. To those with whom we are on terms of intimacy we say 'he' or 'she,' to which we add, if we wish, the words bácsi, or hugom, which are equivalent to 'cousin.'"
"And do you never say 'thou' to your wife?"
"To her also I say 'she' or 'you.'"
"What a singular country! Well, then, Bernat bácsi, if it pleases 'him,' will 'he' sit here by me?"
Baroness Katinka understood perfectly how to conduct the conversation during the repast—an art which was not appreciated by her right-hand neighbor, Herr Mercatoris. The learned gentleman had bad teeth, in consequence of which eating was a sort of penitential performance that left him no time for discourse.
But the doctor and the vice-palatine showed themselves all the more willing to share the conversation with their hostess.
"The official business was satisfactorily arranged without me, was it not, Bernat bácsi?" after a brief pause, inquired the baroness.
"Not altogether. We are like the gypsy who said that he was going to marry a countess. He was willing, and all that was yet necessary was the consent of a countess. Our business requires the consent of a baroness—that is, of Katinka hugom."
"To what must I give my consent?"
"That the conditions relating to the Nameless Castle shall continue the same as heretofore."