Miklós Bánffy - They Were Counted

Laszlo Gyeroffy was travelling on the same train. Though Balint and he greeted one another and sat together in the same compartment, Balint sensed at once that the warmth had gone out of their friendship.

‘Are you going home to Kozard?’ enquired Balint.

‘No, I’m getting off at Varad,’ To ward off any further questioning from his cousin, Laszlo added: ‘I have some business there.’ Then he turned away and pretended to look out of the window.

Neither of them spoke again for some time. Laszlo was thinking about the Carnival season which had just ended. Once again he had been named as elotancos and there had been no diminution in his position in society. On the contrary this year he had reached the pinnacle of social success at the archducal ball when he had dined at the same table as the King of Bulgaria, opened the ball with the Queen and spent the entire evening surrounded by Imperial and Royal Highnesses and their Majesties themselves. Despite all this public glory Laszlo himself sensed that this year his prestige had been somehow diminished. He was no longer interested in his job as leading dancer, and he neglected it. During the picnic dances at the Casino he would sometimes disappear for an hour or more, going up to the gaming tables and more than once returning drunk, and angry that his assistant had sent a message asking for him.

He knew that he had been remiss, but even so he had resented it when, three days before, one of the town’s great hostesses had asked Niki Kollonich and Gyuri Warday, Imre’s younger brother, to organize her ball rather than he, the official elotancos. Accordingly he had thrown up the job, giving it out that he was obliged to return to Transylvania. This was the reason for his being on the same train as Balint. Of course, he reflected, it was just as well that he would no longer have to bear all those extra expenses. Neither could he continue to postpone settling the question of Fanny’s pearls. Somehow he had to find the money to redeem them, for he felt he could no longer bear the shame of being indebted to a woman. It was as bad as being kept!

As they sat face to face in the railway carriage, Balint was closely studying his cousin’s face. It had grown hard, with a bitter line to the mouth, and he had developed a vertical furrow where his eyebrows met. Laszlo’s eyes were both watery and inflamed and Balint knew at once that he must have been sitting up late and presumably gambling as heavily as before. Well, he thought, I’ll try and make him see reason. So, as tactfully as he could he introduced the subjects. Laszlo shrugged his shoulders and his replies were barely polite. This made Balint so angry that he began to say openly everything that was in his mind. His words were cruel and wounding. Finally, enraged, he said: ‘You’re quite mad! If you go on like this you’ll end up bankrupt and dishonoured!’

Gyeroffy got up, the bitter line of his mouth even more marked than before: ‘I am already bankrupt and dishonoured!’ he said quietly. Then he left the compartment.

Laszlo did not return until the train reached Nagy-Varad. While his bags were being collected he came over to his cousin and said: ‘Thank you for caring what becomes of me. But don’t bother any more. I’m a hopeless case!’

Before Balint could reply, Laszlo had disappeared.

When he arrived in Kolozsvar Balint went straight to his apartment in his mother’s house in Farkas Street. It was already late in the evening. He found waiting for him a note from Adrienne: ‘Come to tea tomorrow at half-past four. Turn up unexpectedly. There will be several people there. I’lltell youmore later. ’

Adrienne wrote in English and the word ‘unexpectedly’ was underlined.

Balint arrived the next day at five. In Adrienne’s big drawing-room he found a number of men grouped round each woman present. Judith was in one corner with three young men talking to her, and Margit was at the other end of the room with two of the Alvinczys. The two Laczok girls were there, also surrounded by young men, and Adrienne was near the fireplace, not this time sitting on the pile of cushions on the floor but in an armchair, with Adam Alvinczy on one side and Pityu Kendy on the other. Balint went over to join them. Everybody wanted to hear about the marvels of the Riviera and Kamuthy demanded the latest news from Budapest. While dutifully telling everyone what they wanted to hear Balint was straining every nerve, searching for some sign which would explain why Adrienne had called him home. He looked carefully at everyone in turn but he could see nothing out of the ordinary, either in their faces or in their bearing. Everyone looked exactly as they always did and though he fancied that he caught a flash of hostility in Judith’s eyes when he shook hands with her, it disappeared immediately and she went on chatting with her friends. All this continued for some little time.

When the lamps were brought in Adrienne got up so that the servant could reach the pedestal behind her chair. She moved over to the french window which overlooked the Szamos and gazed out into the twilight. Balint stood beside her.

‘Look hard at that bridge!’ murmured Addy softly without turning towards him. She pointed with her chin towards it and then rejoined the others in the room.

Balint stayed where he was studying the little wooden bridge which spanned the river about ten paces from the house. On the garden side, there was a flimsy gate made of canes which was obviously nailed into place. A few planks were missing from the bridge and the wooden parapet was broken in several places. It was clear that it had not been in use for many years. Across the bridge there was a path through the park which followed the banks of the river.

When Balint rejoined the others Adrienne turned to him and said: ‘I nearly forgot! I’ve still got a book of yours. It was most interesting, thank you so much.’ And she picked up a little paperback Tauchnitz volume from her desk and handed it to him. Balint glanced at the title. The book certainly wasn’t his; he had never even heard of it.

He put it in his pocket and, as he did so, realized that something had been slipped between the leaves. A letter? Though filled with excitement, his reply was cool and blandly devoid of emotion:

‘It’s good, isn’t it? Nothing out of the ordinary, but very well written, I thought. I’m glad you liked it.’

‘Oh, yes. A good read …’

Abady continued to make conversation for a little while longer. Then he took his leave and hurried home. Only when he had reached his own room and closed the door behind him did he take out the book and find Adrienne’s letter.

At one o’clock tonight you must find your way over the bridge. If there is a light behind the frenchwindow, comestraight in. If there isn’t, don’t! It’s very important, but I have to be seen to go to bedbecause of my sisters. Don’t get anywrong ideas, it’sall about Wickwitz! Youare my only friend, I can’t speak about this to anyone else or at anyothertime. We are in great trouble.

Adrienne had wondered for a long time what to do, and this seemed the only way of getting her news to Balint without being detected. Ever since the incident of the clandestine letter at Mezo-Varjas, Judith had thought of Balint as her sworn enemy and the fact that at the Uzdy villa the three sisters shared Adrienne’s only sitting-room meant that it would be impossible to take Balint on one side and consult him without her sisters being present. If she asked Abady to call in the morning, Judith would get to know of it even if she didn’t catch a glimpse of him from the windows of her room which looked over the forecourt of the villa. If they went walking together in the town, just the two of them, this would be certain to arouse Judith’s suspicions, for all this season the three sisters had been everywhere in a group and some acquaintance was sure to see them together and so Judith was sure to hear about it later. None of these things was possible. Adrienne knew her sister well and realized that if it came to Judith’s notice that Adrienne was asking Balint’s advice, then the girl was quite capable of taking fright and fleeing immediately to Wickwitz, maybe even to his regiment at Brasso. Up until now Judith had had no reason to suspect that she had been carefully watched by her eldest sister for, although the girls had been entrusted to Adrienne’s care by their mother, Adrienne had cunningly arranged their lives so that it seemed to them that they were doing exactly what they themselves wanted. In fact, Judith never went out in the mornings without either Mlle Morin or Margit being with her and from lunchtime until sometimes quite late at night, the three sisters were always together.