Miklós Bánffy - They Were Counted

He was ready to help, he said. His only object, naturally, was to be of service for he was after all only a servant, a servant of the Count’s family and, as Count Gyeroffy was a member of the Noble Family he served, therefore, and only because of this and to please the noble Count, he would seek a way to make himself useful. Then he recounted all the difficulties there were in raising money, listing the various obstacles and delays there would be in trying to raise such a sum from the banks. Even though this might eventually produce results there were bound to be delays for all the necessary discussions, searches and legal formalities, not to speak of the expenses involved. Some other solution must be sought, either leasing the estate or pre-selling that year’s crops or a part of them. Yet even the whole would not raise the sum needed, and tenants were always reluctant to pay in advance even if an eager tenant could be found at such short notice. This was the sort of thing which could never be done in a hurry and anyway he would never recommend it for he had only his Lordship’s best interests at heart. No! That sort of solution could never be hurried, indeed he wouldn’t even consider it!

‘Well then, why are you telling me all this?’ asked Laszlo angrily.

For a few moments Azbej looked at him without expression, seemingly bewildered and helpless. Then, as if he had suddenly seen the light, he opened wide his eyes so that they protruded more than ever and cried: ‘I have it! I’ll do it myself, even though it’ll be a sacrifice! I’ll lease the whole property myself, come what may. I’ll pay you what you need!’

The very same day the contract was drawn up and signed and Azbej became Laszlo’s tenant, paying ten years’ rent in advance. As it was to be paid all at once it was only reasonable — was it not? — that he should set the rent at five crowns an acre. That made forty thousand crowns. For a further fifty thousand crowns or thereabouts he bought all the agricultural machinery, though, as God was his witness it was worth barely half that sum, but he did not care for his only desire was to be of help. The next day he handed Laszlo three savings-bank books from Kolozsvar worth eighty-seven thousand crowns in all and three new banknotes of a thousand crowns each.

‘I am very happy,’ said the little attorney on taking his leave, ‘to be of service to your Lordship in this way. Should your Lordship find some other solution at a later date, naturally I will withdraw and we can cancel the arrangement.’

In this way Laszlo raised enough to redeem Countess Beredy’s pearls. The next day he went to Budapest by the midday train, thinking that with such a large sum in his pockets it was wiser to travel by day.

A DRIENNE SAT AT HER DESK but she was not writing. Instead she looked out over the garden which, though leafless was now free of the winter snow, to the rickety wooden bridge over which ten days before Judith had made her escape from the house and which Balint had used each time he came to see her.

He had been there only last night …

Because of Judith, Adrienne had still only been able to see Balint at night. If she so much as heard his name Judith’s face became contorted with terror as if it had been he who had been the sole cause of her terrible disappointment. Most of the day the girl would wander about pathetically, answering mechanically any questions put to her. She would only come to life if Balint were mentioned, and then it was as if the sound of his name was a torment to her. Consequently Adrienne could not allow Balint to visit her during the day as long as her sisters remained at the Uzdy villa; and for the moment there was no question of their leaving, for Countess Miloth was still in the sanatorium.

All the same, thought Adrienne, these night visits must stop, and not only because of the risks involved.

Four days before, when Balint had just let himself in through the drawing-room window, Uzdy had arrived unexpectedly from the country. Luckily they had heard the clatter of horses’ hoofs from the courtyard and there had just been time for Balint to slip back into the darkness of the drawing-room and hide himself behind the door to Adrienne’s room, holding himself rigidly motionless lest the parquet should give a creak under his weight, and for Adrienne to replace the candle on the table by the bed, when Uzdy entered her room still in his hat and travelling coat.

‘You’re still awake? At this hour? Why is that?’ he asked from the door that led from the passage.

‘My sisters have only just left me.’

‘Of course. Yes, of course.’ Uzdy’s little eyes looked around the room, apparently searching for something. His glance fell on the little Browning on the lower shelf of the bedside table.

‘You have a revolver? Since when?’

Adrienne did not answer. With the bedclothes pulled up to her chin she merely stared at him. Uzdy laughed.

‘That’s good! Very clever! Out here, so far from the town, anybody could cross the mill stream, a burglar, anybody!’ He walked up and down for a minute or two, taking long strides with his extra-long legs. Then he abruptly stopped by the drawing-room door, opened it and peered into the darkness of the room beyond. He seemed to be listening. It was only for an instant but to Adrienne it seemed like an eternity. Her heart was beating strongly, but she did not move or speak.

Uzdy closed the door.

‘You are right to be prepared,’ he said. ‘Anyone could get in from there. Would you like a wire fence by the river? Or perhaps a wolf-trap? What? A trap, eh? That’d be good, very good! What?’ He laughed again, though for what reason it was not clear. Towering above her, his laughter seemed to come from the ceiling. Still Adrienne said nothing. He went on: ‘Well, I’ll be going now. You just sleep … sleep … sleep.’ He threw his head back and, seemingly even taller than ever, he turned to go. At the door he looked back, and with no expression on his satanic features, said ‘ Au revoir !’ and left the room as quickly as he had come.

At noon on the following day Uzdy left again for the country.

That night Abady had come again and told her how he had stood, scarcely daring to breathe, behind the open door and they had both laughed about it regardless of the danger they had been in. Neither of them minded, for neither was afraid for their lives.

But, thought Adrienne, now it was not because of the danger that these stolen meetings would have to stop. What was life? That signified nothing … but there was something else.

On their last night together something had happened that had frightened her. A strange new feeling had flooded over her and filled her woman’s body. She knew not what, but it had frightened her. It was something altogether new, and came without warning.

Until now she had always remained calm when Balint was caressing her. It had been agreeable, soothing, so soothing that sometimes she had fallen asleep in his arms just like a child. Those hands that stroked her body, that glided so gently over her skin, the lips that strayed from her mouth, always kissing so gently, gently, and then returning to take possession of her lips for longer than before, had given her merely a sense of agreeable languor, so that this unnoticed conquest to which she had yielded more and more territory had not disturbed her and indeed had hardly meant more than when they dined at the same table or danced together at the public balls, But last night, as their farewell kiss came to an end, Adrienne had felt overwhelmed by a sudden and unexpected weakness. From somewhere deep inside her there came an altogether new feeling which threatened to overcome any strength she had, to sweep away all control, all will power so that her very bones seemed to melt in the radiance of some magic daze. Somehow she had managed to recover herself sufficiently to push him away, suddenly, almost rudely, saying: ‘Go! Go now!’ It was an order: ‘Go! Go!’