A table in the center was littered with English magazines and newspapers, though none of them were of very recent date. The books were of the most varied kind, history, geography, politics, political economy, botany, geology, law, all relating to England and English life and customs and manners.
There were even such books of reference as the London Directory, the "Red" and "Blue" books, Whitaker's Almanac, the Army and Navy Lists, and it somehow gladdened my heart to see it, the Law List.
Whilst I was looking at the books, the door opened, and the Count entered.
He saluted me in a hearty way, and hoped that I had had a good night's rest.
Then he went on.
"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."
This led to much conversation, and as it was evident that he wanted to talk, if only for talking's sake, I asked him many questions regarding things that had already happened to me or come within my notice.
Sometimes he sheered off the subject, or turned the conversation by pretending not to understand, but generally he answered all I asked most frankly.
Then as time went on, and I had got somewhat bolder, I asked him of some of the strange things of the preceding night, as for instance, why the coachman went to the places where he had seen the blue flames.
He then explained to me that it was commonly believed that on a certain night of the year, last night, in fact, when all evil spirits are supposed to have unchecked sway, a blue flame is seen over any place where treasure has been concealed.
"That treasure has been hidden," he went on, "in the region through which you came last night, there can be but little doubt.
For it was the ground fought over for centuries by the Wallachian, the Saxon, and the Turk. Why, there is hardly a foot of soil in all this region that has not been enriched by the blood of men, patriots or invaders. In the old days there were stirring times, when the Austrian and the Hungarian came up in hordes, and the patriots went out to meet them, men and women, the aged and the children too, and waited their coming on the rocks above the passes, that they might sweep destruction on them with their artificial avalanches.
When the invader was triumphant he found but little, for whatever there was had been sheltered in the friendly soil."
"But how," said I, "can it have remained so long undiscovered, when there is a sure index to it if men will but take the trouble to look?
"The Count smiled, and as his lips ran back over his gums, the long, sharp, canine teeth showed out strangely. He answered.
"Because your peasant is at heart a coward and a fool!
Those flames only appear on one night, and on that night no man of this land will, if he can help it, stir without his doors.
And, dear sir, even if he did he would not know what to do.
Why, even the peasant that you tell me of who marked the place of the flame would not know where to look in daylight even for his own work. Even you would not, I dare be sworn, be able to find these places again?"
"There you are right," I said. "I know no more than the dead where even to look for them." Then we drifted into other matters.
"Come," he said at last, "tell me of London and of the house which you have procured for me." With an apology for my remissness, I went into my own room to get the papers from my bag.
