Who could this man be who wished to make her happy without ever appearing to have a hand in it, and who was so anxious, so fearful, lest his honest gifts should cast the slightest slur on her reputation that he would not so much as allow his name to be mentioned?
What more natural, then, that the girl should draw, in her imagination, an ideal picture of her unknown defender?
She represented him to herself as a tall, gloomy, pale-faced youth, who never smiled except when doing good, and his gentle look frequently followed her into her dreams.
Whenever she went for a walk in the streets and encountered young cavaliers there she would steal glances at them and say to herself, "I wonder if that one is he, or that ?" But not one of them fitted into the place that she held vacant in her heart.
At last, one day, she did meet with a face with eyes and features and looks similar to the ideal of her dreams.

Yes, she had pictured him just like that.

Yes, this must be her secret tutelary deity, who did not want himself to be known to her.

Yes, yes, this was the hero she was wont to dream of, with the beautiful blue eyes, the noble features, and the handsome figure! Poor girl! That was not her benefactor.

That was Rudolf Szentirmay, one of the noblest and most patriotic of the younger noblemen of Hungary, already happily married to the lady of his choice, the Countess Flora.
He had no thought of her whatever.