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Updated: June 13, 2025
Fritz Braun smiled as he received the proofs of the Hungarian's treachery. And then, Lena sang over her drudgery for the next week, for the grateful Braun had filled her hand with gold. There was a strange gleam of contentment in Irma Gluyas' eyes when she followed Fritz Braun, two weeks later, into the train for Breslau.
"It seems that this Hungarian's speciality is playing the waltzes and folk-songs of his own country, which is certainly not anything great; but his successes are not obtained with the violin, but among the women. The ladies in London fight for him. His game is to pass himself off as a fallen man, depraved, worn-out.
Yet, if you desire it, I will do my office, and I will read for you with truth the lines of fate as they are written upon your hands. Agnes was a little startled, or even shocked, by this solemn address; but, in a minute or so, a mixed feeling one half of which was curiosity, and the other half a light-hearted mockery of her own mysterious awe in the presence of what she had been taught to view as either fraud or insanity prompted her playfully to insist upon the fullest application of the Hungarian's art to her own case; nay, she would have the hands of our little Francis read and interpreted as well as her own, and she desired to hear the full professional judgment delivered without suppression or softening of its harshest awards.
She ran to meet them as if they were foes she had long been seeking, seized them as if they were destined for her and she for them. Whatever she did well, she took for granted. Her eagerness aroused all the young Hungarian's chivalry. Instinctively one went to the rescue of a creature who had so much to overcome and who struggled so hard.
He struck a match, and by the light of it bolted for the door. A second later he was in the street. A voice said in English, "God bless you, brother!" Swithin looked round, and saw the tall Hungarian holding out his hand. He took it, thinking, 'What a fool I've been! There was something in the Hungarian's gesture which said, "You are worthy of me!" It was annoying, but rather impressive.
She was not of their country, for her hair was burnt yellow like a Lombard's, and her eyes green; her face, tanned and searching, was like a Hungarian's; they thought that she wove spells with her long hands.
But there was an expression of such humble supplication in the Hungarian's little eyes, he showered him with so many praises of his great triumphs, expatiating on the success that his picture Man Overboard! had won at the last Budapest Exhibition, that the master promised to go to the Museo.
Roused by this entreaty, the Hungarian's jealousy awoke, and with violent agitation, he exclaimed, "Then are my fears too true, my dear Fathom: I comprehend the meaning of your request. I have for some time perceived an host of horrors approaching from that quarter. I know your worth and honour.
But with the inevitable elasticity of youth and youthful gaiety we soon did so; we could not attempt to persuade ourselves that there had been any conscious fraud or any attempt at scenical effect in the Hungarian's conduct.
Roused by this entreaty, the Hungarian's jealousy awoke, and with violent agitation, he exclaimed, "Then are my fears too true, my dear Fathom: I comprehend the meaning of your request. I have for some time perceived an host of horrors approaching from that quarter. I know your worth and honour.
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