the tea-tables and the
whist-tables to crowd around him, to the particular respect of the
present company to himself personally.

"I congratulate you," cried Kecskerey, in a shrill nasal voice, waving
his hands towards Abellino.

"What for, you false club?"

Thus it was clear that Abellino also was struck by Kecskerey's great
resemblance to the historical playing-card already mentioned, and this
sally brought the laughter over to his side.

"Don't you know that I have just come from nunky, my dear?"

"Ah, that's another matter," said Abellino, in a somewhat softer voice.
"And what, pray, is the dear old gentleman up to now?"

"That's just where my congratulations come in. All at home send you
their best greetings, kisses, and embraces. The old gentleman is as
sound as an acorn, or as a ripe apple freshly plucked from the tree.
Don't be in the least concerned on his account; your uncle feels
remarkably well. But your aunt is sick, very sick, and to all appearance
she will be sicker still."

"Poor auntie!" said Abellino. "No doubt," thought he to himself, "that
is why he congratulates me; and good news, too. No wonder he
congratulates me. Perhaps she'll even die--who knows?--And what's the
matter with her?" he asked aloud.

"Ah, she is in great danger. I assure you, my friend, that when last I
saw her, the doctors had prohibited both riding and driving."

Even now the real state of things would not have occurred to Abellino's
mind, had not a couple of quicker-witted gentlemen, who had come there
for the express purpose of laughing, and were therefore on the alert for
the point of the jest, suddenly laughed aloud. Then, all at once, light
flashed into his brain.

"A thousand devils! You are speaking the truth now, I suppose?"

His face could not hide the fury which boiled up within him.

"Why, how else should I have cause to congratulate you?" said Kecskerey,
laughing.

"Oh, it is infamous!" exclaimed Abellino, beside himself.

The bystanders began to pity him, and the softer-hearted among them
quietly dispersed. It was a horrible thought that this man, who on
entering the room had believed himself to be the master of millions,
should have been plunged back into poverty by a few words.

Kecskerey alone had no pity for him. He never pitied any one who was
unfortunate; he reserved all his sympathy for the prosperous.

"Then there's nothing more to be done," murmured Abellino, between his
teeth, "unless it