Adrienne’s appearance had hardly changed. Her figure was as tall and slender as ever, like the Greek statues of antiquity‚ but her arms were perhaps a little rounder and the hollows above her collarbone, which had given her such a girlish undeveloped look, had now filled out. And her ivory skin shone even smoother, as it does when women leave their childhood behind them, and glowed as if lit from inside. Adrienne no longer pulled her wraps or boas tightly round her shoulders as young girls instinctively do when some man glances at them. Now she allowed herself to be admired, though she did so with the somewhat contemptuous air with which beautiful women use their desirability as a form of armour, which would itself hold an enemy at bay.

No one saw this clearly, though Adam and Pityu were more hopelessly in love than ever, but Uncle Ambrus had felt it instinctively and so he too started to pay his court. He believe that it would take no time at all to reach his goal. At first he started with the same approach he used to peasant girls, but when Adrienne reproved him sternly he became all submissive and tried other ways of attracting her attention with humbleness and sentimental looks and phrases. In Countess Uzdy’s presence the formidable Ambrus became quite a different man. When he was with her he played the faithful guard-dog – but only in her presence; when he was with the other men he felt obliged, so as not to lose face, to maintain his former role of the all-conquering seducer and every now and again would let drop hints that he wasn’t hanging around that ‘pretty little thing’ in vain!

The Uzdy villa was a large building that stood alone surrounded by a vast garden. On each side of the main house were wings which had originally been designed as servants’ quarters and in one of these wings were Adrienne’s apartments. The musicians entered the forecourt and stopped in front of the glazed veranda behind which they knew was Adrienne’s bedroom. They all walked on tiptoe as quietly as possible, and exchanged only a few words in low whispers while the double-bass player took extra care that not a throb should be heard from his instrument; for it was an unwritten law that serenades should come as a surprise and that the music alone should awaken the sleeping inmates of the house. Everything was carefully done and the table, chairs, glasses and wine were all in place – and the men seated round the table – when the musicians started to play.

On the way the young men had drawn lots as to who should have the first turn with the musicians. Thus it was decided that Uncle Ambrus should be first and the others would follow. Ambrus stood facing the windows in front of the table on the side nearest the house, the others further back on the other side. The band started softly, playing his own tune: ‘Do come when I call you …’ and then, somewhat more loudly‚ Adrienne’s song. After these two there followed some mood music and, as soon as they could all see a glimmer of light from the window giving onto the glass veranda, Ambrus began to sing. He had a good baritone voice, even if it was by then somewhat vinous in quality. The other men sat round the table drinking their champagne in the background. Song followed song until, after a rippling csardas, Uncle Ambrus signalled to the gypsies to stop. At this point he should have stepped back as it was the turn of Pityu’s serenade. However he did not do so but had a chair brought forward to the place where he had stood in front of the window and sat down, glass in hand; and there he stayed.

Ambrus was in an awkward position, because if he had retired to the other side of the table, as he ought to have done, he would have had to abandon his pose of the triumphant successful lover. So he stayed where he was, playing the Devil-may-care wooer in front of the other men, but only showing to Adrienne, who might have been peering unseen through the window curtains, a face less ferocious than the others would ever have imagined.

So he stayed there, conscious – as it was a clear moonlit night, that he was in full view of the window, and every now and again he would sing again with the musicians, even though he no longer had the right as it was not his music that was being played. As their leader, Ambrus assumed more rights than the others, but even so Pityu did not like it. He said nothing because he was a modest young man, a weaker bough than most on the strong ancestral tree of the Kendy family. This could be seen in his appearance.