Maybe they’re careful but it’s well-known that a stallion like Ambrus doesn’t stop at neighing. And what’s more – and I know it for a fact as my cook told me – that when poor Uzdy’s away Ambrus is always hanging about the house even if no one sees him.’

The other ladies just listened, hardly uttering a word. Even Countess Laczok, whose sister was Adrienne’s mother, did not dare defend her niece since she too had marriageable daughters and was afraid of what Lizinka might start saying about them if she appeared to disagree. Eventually it was Countess Gyalakuthy who tried to put a stop to it.

‘All that’s as it may be,’ she said, ‘but it’s surely over, especially now that Akos Miloth’s wife has got so much worse in that clinic in Vienna. I hear her daughters have all gone to be with her.’

‘They left last week,’ Countess Laczok hastened to reply. ‘I’m afraid it’s bad news.’

Countess Abady’s bulging grey eyes looked round the group from Aunt Lizinka to her son, who was sitting silently among the old ladies. There her glance lingered for a moment before she turned and spoke to the kindly, plump Countess Laczok.

‘I had heard that the poor thing’s not been well for some time.’

‘That’s for sure. And this time it’ll be the end!’ interrupted Aunt Lizinka who was dying to get back to her favourite theme. ‘And what’ll become of poor little Margit Miloth without a mother one can only imagine! Then she’ll only have Adrienne’s example to guide her!’

A new visitor was announced. It was old Daniel Kendy who, in his old-fashioned and slightly worn morning coat, was still an impressive figure. Only his red nose showed how partial he was to the bottle.

He bowed over Countess Abady’s hand.

Balint seized the opportunity to offer Daniel his chair and walked swiftly into the adjoining room, his mouth set in a bitter line from all the innuendo and gossip he had been forced to listen to since lunch.

In the smaller drawing-room were gathered all the girls and young men. The butler and a footman were serving coffee and whipped cream and handing round cakes on crystal plates. Every now and again the Countess’s two housekeepers would bring in more delicacies – Viennese Kuglhopf cake, éclairs and almond pastries – and would put on hurt expressions if everyone did not sample each new dish at least twice. Even so an obsequious, ingratiating smile never left their fat faces.

Balint exchanged a few polite words with each of the guests in turn and was just answering someone’s question when Dodo Gyalakuthy came up to him and touched his arm.

‘AB!’ she said, for Balint was known to everyone in Kolozsvar by his initials. ‘I want to tell you something.’ She spoke urgently and quite loudly for the others were making a lot of noise. ‘Let’s sit somewhere in a corner where we won’t be disturbed.’

Balint led her to two empty armchairs that were at the far end of the room and looked enquiringly at her as they sat down. Now Dodo seemed to hesitate before starting to speak in broken, disjointed phrases.

‘I know it really isn’t any of my business, but still, I think I must tell you … I think it’s my duty to tell you … he, he is your cousin …’ She paused and then, suddenly determined, she turned to face Abady. ‘It’s about Laszlo Gyeroffy!’ Now she spoke fluently and in a down-to-earth manner. She was quite specific and related succinctly what she had picked up from Laszlo during the last few months, and which she had cleverly reconstructed to form a true estimate of the situation. She explained how advantage had been taken of Gyeroffy’s lack of interest and apathy and of his total indifference to worldly matters, and that he had been persuaded to lease his entire property for an absurdly low sum that had been paid in advance and how, as a result, he now had practically nothing to live on. Advantage had been taken of his need and it was absolutely vile, what had been done to him. It was a wretched matter which shouldn’t be tolerated. No! It simply shouldn’t be tolerated!

‘But this is very serious,’ said Balint when Dodo had told her tale.