Her husband was very obliging and polite towards her,--in fact he gave her no trouble at all.
Towards the evening they stopped at a village to water the horses and there Hatszegi got out of his carriage and, approaching his wife's, spoke to her through the window: "We shall rest in an hour," said he.
"We shall put up for the night at the castle of an old friend of mine, Gerzson Satrakovich.

He has been duly apprised of our coming and expects us." But the promised hour turned out to be nearly two hours.

The roads were very bad here and it was as much as the carriage wheels could do to force their way through the marshy sand.

The monotonous _Bucskak_[4] which extended desolately, like a billowy sandy ocean, to the very horizon, were overgrown with dwarf firs that looked more like shrubs than trees.

Not a village, not a hut was anywhere to be seen.