Hungarian fiction -- Translations into English; Hungary -- History -- 1699-1848 -- Fiction
The young man also seated himself in front of the mirror, and proceeded,
with various brushes and colors, to paint his cheeks and nose a copper
hue, exactly like that of the coachman's reflection in the glass. Then
he exchanged his own peruke and hat for the shabby ones of the coachman.
Lastly, he flung around his shoulders the mantle with its seven collars,
and the resemblance was complete.
"And now," observed the giant, addressing the captive, "you can rest
without the least fear. At the latest, to-morrow about this time your
coach, your horses, your mantle, and whatever else belongs to you will
be returned. For the use of the things we have borrowed from you we
shall leave in the pocket of your coat twenty francs for every hour, and
an extra twenty francs as a _pourboire_; don't forget to look for it!
To-morrow at eleven o'clock a girl will fetch milk; she will release
you, and you can tell her what a singular dream you had! If you can't
go to sleep, just repeat the multiplication table. I always do when I
can't sleep, and I never have to go beyond seven times seven. Good
night, citizen!"
The door of the adjoining room opened, and the woman appeared, leading
by the hand a pretty little boy.
"We are ready," she announced.
The two men thrust pistols into their pockets. Then the woman and the
little boy entered the coach, the two men took seats on the box, and the
coach rolled away.
CHAPTER III
At ten o'clock the next morning the old gentleman paid a visit to his
little guest. This time the child was really asleep, and opened her eyes
only when the curtains were drawn back and the light from the window
fell on her face.
"How kind of you to waken me, monsieur!" she said, smiling; she was in a
good humor, as children are who have slept well. "I have slept
splendidly. This bed is as good as my own at home. And how delightful
not to hear my governess scolding! You never scold, do you, monsieur? I
deserve to be scolded, though, for I was very naughty last night, and
you were so kind to me--gave me such nice egg-punch; see, there is a
glass of it left over; it will do for my breakfast. I love cold punch,
so you need not trouble to bring me any chocolate." With these words,
the little maid sprang nimbly from the bed, ran with the naïveté of an
eight-year-old child to the table, where she settled herself in the
corner of the sofa, drew her bare feet up under her, and proceeded to
breakfast on the left-over punch and biscuits.
"There! that was a good breakfast," she said, after she had finished her
meal. "Oh, I almost forgot. Has mama sent for me?"
"Certainly not, my dear! We are going, by and by, to look for her. The
countess very likely has not yet learned of your disappearance; and if
she does know that you did not return home last night, she believes you
safe with the marquis. She will think you were not allowed to return
home in the storm, and will not expect to see you before noon."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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