“I shall manage somehow to say my speech,” returned the pastor, meekly, “if only I do not stumble over the name of the lady.”

“It is a difficult name,” assented the vice-palatine.  “What is it?  I have already forgotten it, reverend sir.”

“Katharina von Landsknechtsschild.”

The vice-palatine’s pointed mustaches essayed to give utterance to the name.

“Lantz-k-nek-hisz-sild—­that’s asking a great deal from a body at one time!” he concluded, in disgust at his ill success.

“And yet, it is a good old Hungarian family name.  The last Diet recognized her ancestors as belonging to the nobility.”

This remark was made by a third gentleman.  He was sitting on the left of the vice-palatine, and was clad in snuff-colored clothes.  His face was covered with small-pox marks; he had tangled yellow hair and inflamed eyelids.

“Are you acquainted with the family, doctor?” asked the vice-palatine.

“Of course I am,” replied the doctor.  “Baron Landsknechtsschild inherited this estate from his mother, who was a Markoczy.  The baron sold the estate to his niece Katharina.  You, Herr Surveyor, must have seen the baron, when the land was surveyed around the Nameless Castle for the mad count?”

The surveyor, who was seated beside the doctor, was a clever man in his profession, but little given to conversation.  When he did open his lips, he rarely got beyond:  “I—­say—­what was it, now, I was going to say?”

As no one seemed willing to-day to wait until he could remember what he wanted to remark, the doctor, who was never at a loss for words, continued: 

“The Baroness Katharina paid one hundred thousand florins for the estate, with all its prerogatives—­”

“That’s quite a handsome sum,” observed the vice-palatine.  “And, what is handsomer, it is said the new proprietress intends to take up a permanent residence here.  Is not that the report, Herr Justice?  You ought to know.”

The justice had an odd habit, while speaking, of rubbing together the palms of his hands, as if he were rolling little dumplings between them.

“Yes—­yes,” he replied, beginning his dumpling-rolling; “that is quite true.  The baroness sent some beautiful furniture from Vienna; also a piano, and a tuner to tune it.  All the rooms at the manor have been hung with new tapestry, and the conservatory has been completely renovated.”

“I wonder how the baroness came to take such a fancy to this quiet neighborhood?  It is very strange, too, that none of the neighboring nobles have been invited here to meet her.  It is as if she intended to let them know in advance that she did n’t want their acquaintance.  At any other celebration of this sort half the county would have been invited, and here are only ourselves—­and we are here because we are obliged, ex officio, to be present.”

This speech was delivered over the mouthpiece of the vice-palatine’s meerschaum.