I might even speak. But as soon as that’s over I’ll come back at once.’

‘That’s good. That’s very good!’ murmured Countess Roza, and as a token of peace she rather distantly stroked her son’s face.

Though the two housekeepers for once had not been present when this conversation took place, they had spent so many years by her side that from half-expressed references dropped by their mistress they soon were aware of what had been decided. No time was lost in passing on to their old ally, Azbej, that he should now practise a little caution.

Consequently it was the very next day that Azbej came posthaste to Kolozsvar. He was clever enough to realize that though the countess had backed him up in the matter of the Kozard leases it would be just as well, if one was wise, not to forget that he still had to reckon with Count Balint. It was important, therefore, in some way to humour him in this latest dispute, because – who knows? – one day it might come about that the countess sided with her son. It would be prudent to make some concessions in the Gyeroffy affair, and so he begged Balint for an audience.

Azbej’s manner was even more humble than it had been before. He told Balint that he had made a full check, re-thought the whole situation and made some provisional plans to so force production that the estate would yield more. Also by re-estimating the value of the equipment he found that he would be able to increase the rent by 2,400 crowns each year. He said that he had made his wife accept this extra charge …

Abady interrupted him, asking ironically, ‘And your brother-in-law? Did he agree too?’

Azbej smiled, not in the least disconcerted. He knew well that he had never mentioned any brother-in-law to Balint, and indeed that he had merely invented a brother-in-law’s participation for the benefit of the old countess because he thought it sounded better. Such inconsistencies never bothered Azbej, so he merely skated over this obvious crack in his story by blinking and saying, ‘Of course! Naturally! With him too; though, as he had never paid my wife’s dowry in full, all he had to do was to sign a draft.’

He went on talking volubly, bowing whenever he could and swearing that his only desire was to remain in his Lordship’s good graces; and all the time he kept a fixed smile on his little red mouth to conceal from the noble Count how much it hurt that some of the fat profit he had planned for himself was now to be plucked from him.

Well, thought Balint, it’s just as well that I did intervene. My mother may still be annoyed but in time she’ll forget about it. When Azbej took his leave Balint sat down and wrote a few words to Dodo telling her what he had achieved, thinking that if she was so concerned for Laszlo she would be made happy by his news.

Later that afternoon he heard that the Miloth family had returned and that Countess Miloth would be buried on the following day.

He left for the capital that evening.

Chapter Four

IT WAS THE BEGINNING of May and Spring was at its most beautiful. There was not a cloud in the clear blue sky which covered the whole mountainous landscape like an azure dome.

Far away to the south, behind the bare peaks of the Korosfo mountains, there started a dark wavy line high up in the sky, which marked the highest and furthest ranges. This continued to the south-west past the triple summits of the Vlegyasa and the steep crags of the mountains closing the gorge of Sebesvar, crags that were crowned by thick forests of oak, until, in the west and north-west, it merged with the towering Meszes range which, stretching far into the distance, ridge after ridge, descended gradually into the bluish vapour above the river Almas. Then to the north, there appeared the bare clay slopes and leafy beech forests of the Gorbo country. Finally the circle was closed to the east by the strange mushroom-like cone of the Reszeg – or Drunken – mountain. All around the horizon there was a pale shimmering almost grey radiance which became more deeply blue as it rose into the clear azure of a sky so clear, so immense, so virginal that it was as if it had never known the sign of a storm cloud. In the silence and stillness the earth seemed to vibrate slightly as if the whole world were throbbing with the expectation and desire for the great re-birth of Spring.

On the wide plateau at the heart of this panorama, whence rose the springs which on the one side fed the Almas river and on the other the Koros, in the centre of a gently sloping little circular meadow shaded by the low hanging branches of the surrounding trees, stood Balint Abady. With him were Geza Winckler, his newly-engaged forest manager, and, a little way off, the estate forester ‘Honey’ Andras Zutor and a small group of other men who carried red-and-white painted poles, compasses, measuring tapes and a set of binoculars on a tripod – all the tools of forest-planning.

Winckler, a highly qualified forester, was explaining his plans.