The Baron was pro-British in all his remarks. He deplored the ridiculous weakness of the poor old doddering Emperor Franz-Josef, who, as every one knew, was beneath the thumb of a wily adventuress, and with vehemence declared: “We were always Britain’s friends. We should never have opposed her. Look at our poor Hungary now! Only ruin and starvation! Until we can recover ourselves we shall be at the mercy of any of the petty Powers who make themselves so conspicuous and obnoxious at the eternal pourparlers presided over by your Premier. We want peace, Mr. Falconer,” cried the Baron furiously. “Peace, and with it renewed prosperity. But there!” he added. “Pardon me! I apologise. Françoise knows that this constant casting of dust in the eyes of our poor starving people goads me to the point of fury.”
Even though Hungary was in such evil case, and half the population were starving, yet at that hotel people—many of them war-profiteers as in London—dined expensively, danced, and thoroughly enjoyed themselves. To them it mattered not how freely the bones of the poor rattled, or how many children died daily of sheer starvation. They had money—and with it they bought merriment and “life.”
After dinner the Baron’s car took them down the Nagy-Korut—the Great Boulevard—to the Folies Caprice, where they spent the evening at an excellent variety performance.
That night when Geoffrey retired to his room he was fully satisfied with the warm reception and generosity of the Baron, and charmed with the chic and verve of his pretty niece Françoise, who seemed to have spent most of her life in Paris, where her father had an apartment close to the Étoile.
Next day the Baron invited the young radio-engineer to have a run in the Mercedes, and the rather morose Frenchman, Lebon, who drove, took them out to Tepla, a very beautiful spot with warm springs that have been visited for centuries by the Hungarian nobility. They lunched at the Sina-haz, one of the many excellent hotels, and ran back through Trencsen, where they pulled up to find the “Lovers’ Well.”
After an inquiry from the Baron, who alone spoke the Hungarian tongue, they discovered it just outside the village, within the confines of the ruin of a Roman castle—a well dug in the rock.
The Baron and the peasant who conducted them to it had a short chat. Then Françoise’s uncle turned to them, and explained in French:
“A most curious story this good man tells. It seems that centuries ago a young Turk of high rank and family offered a large ransom for his bride, who was in captivity in this castle. But the lord of the castle, Stephen Zapolya, demanded as the price of her release that her lover should dig a well through the rock. After seven years’ hard work the well was completed, and the spring is to this day called the ‘Lovers’ Well.’”
With Françoise, Geoffrey peered down into the pitch darkness, and saw that it was really cut in the rock. As they did so, their hands came into contact. Indeed, she grasped his instinctively as they stood together at the edge of the deep well.
Then she withdrew her hand quickly with a word of apology, and ten minutes later they were in the car back upon the broad highway which led to Budapest.