“I am glad you found your way in here, for I am sure there is much that will interest you.  These companions,” and he laid his hand on some of the books, “have been good friends to me, and for some years past, ever since I had the idea of going to London, have given me many, many hours of pleasure.  Through them I have come to know your great England, and to know her is to love her.  I long to go through the crowded streets of your mighty London, to be in the midst of the whirl and rush of humanity, to share its life, its change, its death, and all that makes it what it is.  But alas!  As yet I only know your tongue through books.  To you, my friend, I look that I know it to speak.”

“But, Count,” I said, “You know and speak English thoroughly!” He bowed gravely.

“I thank you, my friend, for your all too-flattering estimate, but yet I fear that I am but a little way on the road I would travel.  True, I know the grammar and the words, but yet I know not how to speak them.”

“Indeed,” I said, “You speak excellently.”

“Not so,” he answered.  “Well, I know that, did I move and speak in your London, none there are who would not know me for a stranger.  That is not enough for me.  Here I am noble.  I am a Boyar.  The common people know me, and I am master.  But a stranger in a strange land, he is no one.  Men know him not, and to know not is to care not for.  I am content if I am like the rest, so that no man stops if he sees me, or pauses in his speaking if he hears my words, ‘Ha, ha!  A stranger!’ I have been so long master that I would be master still, or at least that none other should be master of me.  You come to me not alone as agent of my friend Peter Hawkins, of Exeter, to tell me all about my new estate in London.  You shall, I trust, rest here with me a while, so that by our talking I may learn the English intonation.  And I would that you tell me when I make error, even of the smallest, in my speaking.  I am sorry that I had to be away so long today, but you will, I know forgive one who has so many important affairs in hand.”

Of course I said all I could about being willing, and asked if I might come into that room when I chose.  He answered, “Yes, certainly,” and added.

“You may go anywhere you wish in the castle, except where the doors are locked, where of course you will not wish to go.  There is reason that all things are as they are, and did you see with my eyes and know with my knowledge, you would perhaps better understand.”  I said I was sure of this, and then he went on.

“We are in Transylvania, and Transylvania is not England.  Our ways are not your ways, and there shall be to you many strange things.  Nay, from what you have told me of your experiences already, you know something of what strange things there may be.”