annually.

I have forgotten to mention that although the dinner was sumptuous, and
the dishes and wines were excellent, yet it was as stately, solemn, and
unsociable a meal as a funeral banquet, and Mrs. Dumany presided in
deep mourning. The only jewel she wore was a large cross studded with
dark-blue diamonds, only recognisable as such by the rays of blue,
yellow, red, and green light which darted from them. This cross was
suspended on a chain of black beads resembling a rosary, and giving to
the black-robed figure the appearance of an abbess. The Spanish lace
mantilla which she had thrown over her beautiful hair served as the
veil, and made the resemblance perfect.

At nine o'clock the government official and the priest took their leave,
and Mrs. Dumany retired, to put her babes to bed, as she said--a duty
which she always fulfilled herself, saying her prayers with them, and
watching them until they slept. After the lady had retired, Mr. Dumany
told me that even when he and his wife dined out, or were going to the
opera, my lady invariably went home at nine o'clock to put her children
to bed--a duty which she never omitted; but on the evening of the
catastrophe she had been compelled to stay by the company present, and
this had given rise to her self-accusations. She was nowhere happy but
in the company of her children, who afforded her the greatest delight
and amusement. I sighed, and, yes--I think I was actually guilty of the
remark that Hungarian ladies of quality were equally good and dutiful
mothers.

We went over to Mr. Dumany's bedroom for a cup of tea and a cigar. It
was a grand room, lofty and spacious as a church, and if I had been a
Chauvinist, I should have said that the rays of light in this room