At least everybody believed it--himself included.
The countess always seemed pleased to see him, and the oftener he paid his visits, the less frequent grew the visits of Szilard.

Occasionally they met at the countess's and then Szilard would hastily step aside, as vanquished rivals are wont to do when their conquerors appear.

At last Leonard was a daily institution at the countess's, while Szilard only appeared there occasionally.
Yet one day, while Hatszegi was in the drawing room of the countess, paying his court to her most assiduously, Vamhidy entered _sans gene_; whereupon the countess hastily springing up from her _causeuse_ asked leave of the baron to withdraw for a moment and there and then conducted Vamhidy into her private boudoir and remained closeted with him for a good quarter of an hour, whilst Hatszegi, yellow with jealousy, was left alone with the countess's French companion, who could answer nothing but "oui" and "non" to all his remarks.
When the countess emerged from her room, she seemed to be in a very good humour.

She accompanied Szilard all the way to the drawing-room door, pressed his hand, and when they parted at the door exchanged a significant look with him, at the same time touching her lips with her index finger--a very confidential piece of pantomime as any connoisseur will tell you.
And all this Hatszegi saw reflected in the mirror, opposite to which he sat.
As soon as the countess sat down, her companion, as if at a given signal, arose and left the room.
Scarcely were they alone when the baron petulantly remarked: "It appears as if your ladyship and our young friend rejoiced in very intimate mutual relations." "Oh, very intimate.

I assure you he is a most worthy, honourable man." "So I observe." "I am quite in earnest.