would spend whole days with her husband, and bring her
embroidery or her book into his room; or she would invite him into her
room, when she played the piano; or would drive about with him, in fact,
she never left him. She did not wish for any other society. She directed
the servants that if any of her old visitors came to see her, they were
to be told she was not feeling well, and all the time she would be
sitting inside with her husband, and forcing herself to make him happy
and load him with joy.

During these days she had very little to do even with Teresa, and very
shortly her worthy kinswoman took her leave. Fanny parted from her
without tears or sorrow, yet Teresa saw into her soul. When she had
kissed the silent lips, and was sitting in the carriage on her way home,
she sighed involuntarily, "Poor girl! poor girl!"

CHAPTER XV.

THE SPY.

And now we are in Mr. Kecskerey's quarters again. It would be a great
mistake on our part to leave him out of sight. An individual like him,
once seen, may not be forgotten. He was now living at Pest, where he had
elegant chambers and all his old renown, carrying on his old business of
amalgamating the various elements of society.

It was still early, and the worthy man was not yet half dressed. When I
say not yet half dressed, I mean the expression to be taken in the
literal sense of the word. He was sitting in the middle of the room on a
rich purple ottoman, enfolded in a red burnous, sucking away at a huge
chibook, puffing smoke all round him, and contemplating himself in a
large mirror exactly opposite to him. At the opposite end of the ottoman
sat a huge orang-outang of about his own size, in a similarly charming
position, wrapped in a similar burnous, also smoking a chibook, and
regarding himself in the mirror.

Scattered all about were heaps of scented _billet-doux_, verses, musical
notes, and other perishable articles of the same sort. Round about the
walls hung all kinds of select pictures, which would certainly have been
very much ashamed if they could have seen each other. On the table, in a
vase of genuine Herculanean bronze, were the visiting-cards of a number
of notable men and women of the smartest set. The carpets were all woven
by delicate feminine hands, and bore the figures of dogs, horses, and
huntsmen. The tapestried walls revealed the presence of small hidden
doors, and the windows were covered by double curtains close drawn.

In the antec