I put up
at the khan, and then went to the Natchalnik's house to deliver my
letter. Going through green lanes, we at length stopped at a high
wooden paling, over-topped with rose and other bushes. Entering, we
found ourselves on a smooth carpet of turf, and opposite a pretty
rural cottage, somewhat in the style of a citizen's villa in the
environs of London. The Natchalnik was not at home, but was gracefully
represented by his young wife, a fair specimen of the beauty of
Csatsak; and presently the Deputy and the Judge came to see us. A dark
complexioned, good-natured looking man, between thirty and forty, now
entered, with an European air, German trowsers and waistcoat, but a
Turkish riding cloak. "There comes the doctor," said the lady, and the
figure with the Turkish riding cloak thus announced himself:--
_Doctor_. "I' bin a' Wiener."
_Author_. "Gratulire: dass iss a' lustige Stadt."
_Doctor_. "Glaub'ns mir, lust'ger als Csatsak."
_Author_. "I' glaub's."
The Judge, a sedate, elderly, and slightly corpulent man, asked me
what route I had pursued, and intended to pursue.
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