And then, one other morning, accompanied only by the Princess Sarolta, Fessenden, and Alexandra, she visited the Hall of the Deputies, the Lower House of the Diet. The new Parliament building, that epitome of Venice on the brink of the Danube, was unfinished, and both houses of the Diet still met in the old buildings in the “Magnates’ Quarter.” Ranata insisted upon sitting quietly in the diplomats’ gallery for a time, and found much food for reflection. The magnates meet irregularly; the Deputies daily while Parliament is in session, and transact the business of the nation when not engaged in moving their kings and pawns a square further towards independence. One finds no type in Budapest, and these were men of many types. Few possessed the famed Hungarian beauty, and the majority looked like energetic business-men whose native fires were nicely balanced by determination. They were curiously unmonarchical in appearance and atmosphere; and the unenlightened stranger would have assumed without question that they were the working body of an aggressive republic. The ministry, striking-looking men, all of the Liberal party, sat in a semicircle below the desk of the President of the House, and followed the proceedings with evident cynicism. The President, one of the few nobles in the Lower House, was lecturing the Party of Independence upon the inconvenient extreme to which it was carrying its policy of obstruction. He sat aloft, and the beautiful Magyar language rolled down, an impassioned yet monotonous torrent. The constant interruptions from the Extreme Left in nowise disturbed it. The “Young Kossuth party” acted much in the fashion of bad boys too big for the ferrule. “They need Tom Reed,” muttered Fessenden. “They interest me very much,” whispered Ranata. “I have never seen anything like them. Do they represent Hungary?” “That is what they are here for.” “Your House of Representatives--does it look more democratic?” “Only when it has its coat off and its feet on the desk.” “These men--why do they want William? Why do they want any king?” “The great body are not extremists. They know that Hungary is not ready for independence--neither internally nor by her geographical position. No country is surrounded by so many enemies--who hate her for that obstinate individuality which has survived every reverse and threatens to engulf themselves. The Hungarians would make their own terms with William--and give him their help in smashing Russia.” “Is this matter the talk of Europe?” asked the Archduchess sharply. “Not of Europe, but of those who do the hard thinking.” “How could William smash Russia?” “He only needs the money.” “Ah! He promised his grandfather on the old Kaiser’s death-bed that he would maintain friendly relations with Russia. It is a matter of sentiment with him.” “Sentiment evaporates, and promises are nullified, when it comes to a question of self-protection.”