Its walls were covered with beautiful frescoes, betraying the French
school of art in the delicate colours, and in the Norman, Basque,
Breton, and Kabyle scenes and types represented. Of Hungary I could see
nothing. The Hortobágy herdsman's hovel, of which my host had spoken,
was not to be found.

In another room I found a sort of ethnographical museum, full of relics
and rarities from all countries except Hungary; and yet, if that man had
ever been in my country, he would certainly have brought some token of
remembrance with him. Hungary is more rich in curiosities than a good
many of the countries represented here.

Mr. Dumany came in to see if I was ready for breakfast, and I followed
him into the tea-room, passing a little, semi-circular, ship-cabin-like
apartment, with small, round windows, between which, in
beautifully-sculptured, round frames, of the size of the windows, hung
very handsome landscapes, apparently American.

In the breakfast-room I recognised a tiny Meissonier, in a gold frame of
twice its size, and an Alma Tadema. Mr. Dumany, observing my interest in
the pictures, informed me that these two were there only temporarily,
pending their shipment to New York. There, in Mr. Dumany's real home,
was his picture gallery, containing works of art of the highest
standard.

I ventured to observe that we Scythians, barbarians as we were held to
be, had also some painters worthy the interest of a Mæcenas, and not
without fame, too.

"I should think so," he said, smiling. "And in my New York gallery you