“We are going to avail ourselves of your talent at the piano, sir,” said the Countess Hunyadi, approaching me with a courteous smile. “But let me first offer you some tea.” Not knowing if fortune might ever repeat her present favor, I resolved to profit by the opportunity to the utmost; and while cautiously repressing all display, contrived to show that I was master of some three or four languages, and a person of education, generally. “We are puzzled about your nationality, sir,” said the Countess to me. “If not too great a liberty, may I ask your country?” When I said England, the effect produced was almost magical. A little murmur of something I might even call applause ran through the room; for I had mentioned the land of all Europe dearest to the Hungarian heart, and I heard, “An Englishman! an Englishman!” repeated from mouth to mouth, in accents of kindest meaning. “Why had I not presented myself before? Why had I not sent my name to the Countess? Why not have made it known that I was here?” and so on, were asked eagerly of me, as though my mere nationality had invested me with some special claim to attention and regard. I had to own that my visit was a purely business one; that I had come to see and confer with the Count, and had not the very slightest pretension to expect the courtesies I was then receiving. My performance at the piano crowned my success. I played the _csardas_ with such spirit as an impassioned dancer alone can give to the measure he delights in, and two enthusiastic encores rewarded my triumph. “Adolf, you must play now, for I know the Englishman is dying to have a dance,” said the gay young Countess Palfi; “and I am quite ready to be his partner.” And the next moment we were whirling along in all the mad mazes of the _csardas_.