With a courteous bow, he opened the door to the octagonal room for me, and I entered my bedroom.

7 May. – It is again early morning. I slept till late in the day. When I had dressed myself I went into the room where we had supper, and found a cold breakfast. There was a card on the table, on which was written:

I enjoyed a great meal. When I had done, I looked for a bell, but I could not find it. The table service is of gold and very beautiful. The curtains are of the most expensive and most beautiful fabrics. But there are no mirrors at all. There is not even a toilet glass on my table, and I had to use the little shaving glass from my bag before I could either shave or brush my hair. I have not yet seen a servant anywhere, or heard a sound near the castle except the howling of wolves.

Some time after I had finished my meal – I do not know whether to call it breakfast or dinner, for it was between five and six o’clock when I had it – I looked about for something to read. There was absolutely nothing in the room, book, newspaper; so I opened another door in the room and found a library.

In the library I found, to my great delight, a vast number of English books and volumes of magazines and newspapers. The books were on history, geography, politics, political economy, botany, geology, law – all relating to England and English life, customs and manners.

While I was looking at the books, the door opened, and the Count entered. He saluted me in a hearty way.[32] Then he went on.

“I am glad you found your way in here. These books have been good friends to me, and for some years past, since I had the idea of going to London, they have given me many, many hours of pleasure. Through them I knew your great England; and to know it is to love it. I studied English through books, and you, my friend, will you help me to speak it better?”

“But, Count,” I said, “You know and speak English thoroughly!”

He bowed gravely.

“I thank you, my friend, for your estimate. True, I know the grammar and the words, but I do not know how to speak them.”

“Indeed,” I said, “you speak excellently.”

“Not so,” he answered. “Well, I am sure, when I move and speak in your London, the people will know me for a stranger.[33] That is not enough for me. Here I am noble; I am a Count; the common people know me, and I am the master. But a stranger in a strange land, he is no one. ‘Ha, ha! A stranger!’ You came to me not alone as[34] agent of my friend Peter Hawkins, to tell me all about my new estate in London. You will, I hope, rest here with me a little; and, please, tell me when I make errors, even the smallest, in my speaking.”

Of course I said that I would, and asked if I could use his library. He answered, “Yes, certainly,” and added.

“Tell me of London and of the house which you have prepared for me.”

With an apology, I went into my room to get the papers from my bag. When I returned the Count put away the books and papers from the table and we went into plans and figures of all sorts. He was interested in everything, and asked me a thousand questions about the place and its surroundings.

We discussed the purchase of the estate at Purfleet.[35] When I had told him the facts and got his signature to the necessary papers, he had written a letter to Mr. Hawkins. Then he said, “I am glad that it is old and big house. I am of an old family, and to live in a new house means to kill me. I love the shade and the shadow, and I want to be alone with my thoughts.”