"And the countess understands how to prepare the old-fashioned Hungarian
delicacy?" I asked.

He laughed. "Ha-ha-ha! Why, she is as good a Hungarian as you or I. If
she speaks French, she only imitates our ladies at home, who think
themselves so much more refined when they speak bad French instead of
good Hungarian."

This was another revelation, and upset the other half of my fictitious
combination. I had imagined that my countryman had won the love of some
South American magnate's daughter, and in this way had become the
possessor of his innumerable millions. Mr. Dumany might have read my
thoughts in my face, for he smiled and said--

"You will presently understand that I did not rob, did not cheat, and
did not marry for money, and yet I did not acquire my present great
wealth by my own good sense and management, either. I'll show you by
what road I have reached it, as a warning to others. May no other man
ever do as I did! But I do not believe that such events are ever likely
to happen again. I do not believe that there can ever be born another
such a pair of thick-skinned, iron-nerved human beings as the heroes of
this story, or two other persons able to endure what we endured. I will
venture to say that the worldly wealth I have won is not worth the price
I paid for it; but I have gained another prize, whose value can never be
expressed in figures."

Thereupon we sat down at the little tea-table. Mr. Dumany threw a few
logs of odorous cedar wood upon the fire and began his tale. So, from
this point, the present romance is not written by me, but by him.