Hungarian

I'm Maxim. I am writing to you with my back leaning against the trunk of an aspen tree, in the Andean forest in northern France, not far from Madeleine's house. Yes, I can now confirm to the readers of Newgra that I am in the footsteps of Mateusz and in the place from which his eighteen rhapsodys emerged. Did I tell you that Madeleine's landlady is the same as Lorette? Yes, Laurette, and I am almost certain that she knows where Mateusz is, but she is hiding him from me. It is only a matter of time for me to make her reveal what she has in mind. I sensed a fabulous sadness in her eyes as she read the letters of Rhapsody. At dawn on the third day of Lorette's stay, insomnia dragged me out of the bed and brought me to the lobby of the hostel. Lorette was there, under the dim lamplight on the living room sofa, leaning over the papers she had asked me yesterday, like a saint hugging her book with great reverence. I heard her reading in an intermittent voice... My lips were dry clay and my throat was dust playing for me alone from the end of the rhapsody.
I knew that she had not left her seat since last night, and that she was on Mateusz's rhapsody, so I did not want to interrupt her and began to withdraw to my room, but she noticed my presence, so I greeted her: I apologize, Mrs. Lorette, it's too late. Laurette took a deep breath, which brought her back to alertness, and stared at me with what looked like disapproval. Then she threw her papers on the antique sofa, pulled her black silk shawl embroidered with red threads over her shoulders, and wrapped it around her chest with her crossed hands.