"Yes, until your papa comes back."

"Stay always. Papa would like it. He always used to say, 'Speak to me,
my boy, only to me! I have nobody but thee to speak to me in our own
Hungarian;' and now he has you also. How glad he must be of it! You will
stay?--promise!"

I promised him to stay a long time, and, holding fast to my hand, he
fell asleep again.

When Mr. Du Many, or rather Dumany, returned to me, I was sitting before
the grate, musing over what the child's innocent prattle had revealed to
me--the tender, loving recollection this man had of his home and the
sweet sounds of our beloved mother tongue.

He came in with an animated face. "My wife has consented," he said. "She
told me that it was confession-time. To-morrow she will confess to
Father Augustin, and this evening I shall make you my confessor. Now
that I have made up my mind to it, I really think that, even from a
practical point of view, it would be much better if the truth should be
known about us, rather than those wild, fanciful stories reported by
gossiping American newspapers."

With that he rang the bell for the servant, and gave his orders for the
night. Tea with mandarin liqueur at once, at twelve o'clock punch and
fruits, at two in the morning coffee _à la Turque_, and at five o'clock
a cold woodcock and champagne, were to be served.

"I hope you will be able to stand being up all night?" he asked.