As I uttered these questions in Hungarian, he clapped his hands in
gladness, and then, after a little meditation, he answered--

"My father is called the 'Silver King,' and his name is Mr. Dumany. Do
you know him?"

"Oh!" said the Englishman, as he heard the name, "Mr. Kornel Dumany, the
Silver King; I know him very well. He is an American, and very rich. He
lives mostly in Paris. If it is more convenient for you to get rid of
the child, I can take care of him and bring him to his father."

"No, no!" protested the little one, clinging tightly to me. "Please, do
not give me to him! I want to stay with you; I want to go with you to my
papa!"

So he knew English well enough, since he understood every word of the
Englishman's. In this case he could not have been deaf at all, but
obstinate, hearing and refusing to talk. Was not such unheard-of
obstinacy in a child of such tender age some malady of the mind or soul?

"I wonder how this child comes to speak Hungarian?" said I, turning to
the Englishman. "Ours is not a language generally spoken by foreigners,
least of all by the young children of American nabobs."

"I never wonder at anything," said he, coolly. "At any rate, I should
advise you at the first station to telegraph to Mr. Dumany; I will give
you his address. So you will be expected when you arrive in Paris, and
have no further trouble. Since you are the only person able to talk to
the boy, it will be certainly the best thing for him to remain with you.