"But your late father--God rest him!--was an unruly spirit. It is well that you have not followed in his footsteps. He was never happy unless he was fighting. The thunder of artillery was a vital necessity to him, and the last hours of his life were spent at a siege. Well for you that you do not imitate him! You seem to me a very steady, quiet sort of young man." "Oh! such praise as that I'm sure I don't deserve," replied Tököly proudly; "I also was at the siege you speak of, and defended the fortress till my father died." Apafi did not like to be interrupted in this way, but, meaning to show his sympathy, he added, after a pause-- "And how then did you manage to escape, my son?" Emerich blushed deeply and would not answer; but Teleki, by way of correcting his young kinsman's intemperate zeal, answered apologetically-- "The fact is, he was then very young, so they disguised him in woman's clothes, and he was thus able to elude the vigilance of the besiegers." Apafi immediately recovered his good-humour. He playfully stroked the youth's blood-red cheeks, and signified to Teleki that he might now introduce the other gentlemen also. They were all fugitives from Hungary, and the Prince did his best to appear gracious towards them; but, in the meantime, one of the court ushers entered and announced with a loud voice-- "His Excellency Monsieur l'Abbé Reverend, the French Envoy, desires an audience." This announcement again filled Apafi with embarrassment. He drew Teleki aside and whispered in his ear-- "I will not, I cannot receive him. Go out and speak to him yourself, and explain how matters stand." And with that he hastily quitted the reception-room, delighted at having this time shifted the difficulty on to Teleki's shoulders; but he remained listening at the door to find out whether there would be any violent explosion behind his back. And an explosion there certainly was, though not of a particularly terrifying character. The Prince heard Teleki burst into a jovial peal of laughter, whereupon all the gentlemen present with one accord followed his example, just as if they were taking part in some intensely amusing diversion. "It must indeed be a very peculiar phenomenon which extorts such extravagant merriment from these sour-faced gentry," thought Apafi, and he half opened the door--he could not quite open it, because learned Master Passai, ordinarily a miracle of gravity, had so given himself up to mirth that he was forced to lean back against the Prince's cabinet. "Let me come in, Master Passai!" cried the inquisitive Prince, and succeeding shortly afterwards in opening the door, the cause of the general mirth was immediately obvious to him. The Abbé Reverend stood in the centre of the room in full Hungarian costume. A more comical figure was scarcely conceivable.