and remarked with horror what an untidy state it was
in; deeds lying about everywhere, coats and cloaks, belonging to the
Senators, empty glasses and bottles, for they were in the habit of
drinking a glass now and then when they had settled some particularly
important business, which was quite right of them, for the truth that
emanated from them must be replaced by a fresh supply, and as the
Hungarians say: "There is truth in wine."

The sight of that office would really have discouraged Mr. Mravucsan if
his eye had not at that moment fallen on the portrait of Baron
Radvanszky, the lord lieutenant of the county, hanging on the wall in
front of him. That, after all, lent some distinction to the room. He
wished from his heart that the baron were there in person to see what an
illustrious guest they were harboring. But as the baron was not present,
he felt it devolved on him to express his satisfaction at the fact.

"I am a poor man," he said, "but I would not accept a hundred florins in
place of the honor that is done to my poor office to-day. It is worth
something to have the most renowned lawyer in the county, and the
prettiest young lady ..."

"Oh, Mr. Mravucsan!" exclaimed Veronica, blushing furiously.

"Well," said Mravucsan, "what's true is true. One need not be ashamed of
being pretty. I was good-looking myself once, but I was never ashamed of
it. Besides, a pretty face is of great use to one, isn't it, Mr. Wibra?"

"Yes, it is a very lucky thing," answered Gyuri quickly.

Mravucsan shook his head.

"Let us simply say it is a great help, for luck can easily turn to
misfortune, and misfortune to luck, as was the case now, for if it had
not been for to-day's accident, I should not now have the pleasure of
seeing you all here."

"What is that?" asked Gyuri. "An accident?"

Veronica was going to answer, but that talkative mayor put in his word
again.

"Yes, there was an accident, but in a short time there will be no traces
of it, for the earring is here, madame's shoulder is here, it will be
blue for some days, but what the devil does that matter, it is not the
color makes the shoulder. And the carriage will be all right, too, when
the smith has mended it."

"So those horses that were running away with a broken carriage...?"

"Were ours," said Veronica. "They took fright near the brickfield, the
coachman lost his hold of the reins, and when he stooped to gather them
up, he was thrown out of the carriage.