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The Prince +then returned to his guests, and the boat, which Marsa watched through +the window of the carriage, departed, bearing away the dream, as she had +said to Andras. During the drive home she did not say a word. By her +side the General grumbled sleepily of the sun, which, the Tokay aiding, +had affected his head. But, when Marsa was alone in her chamber, the cry +which was wrung from her breast was a cry of sorrow, of despairing anger: + +"Ah, when I think--when I think that I am envied!" + +She regretted having allowed Andras to depart without having told him on +the spot, the secret of her life. She would not see him again until the +next day, and she felt as if she could never live through the long, dull +hours. She stood at the window, wrapped in thought, gazing mechanically +before her, and still hearing the voice of Michel Menko hissing like a +snake in her ear. What was it this man had said? She did not dare to +believe it. "I demand it!" He had said: "I demand it!" Perhaps some +one standing near had heard it. "I demand it!" + +Evening came. Below the window the great masses of the chestnut-trees +and the lofty crests of the poplars waved in the breeze like forest +plumes, their peaks touched by the sun setting in a sky of tender blue, +while the shadowy twilight crept over the park where, through the +branches, patches of yellow light, like golden and copper vapors, still +gave evidence of the god of day. + +Marsa, her heart full of a melancholy which the twilight increased, +repeated over and over again, with shudders of rage and disgust, those +three words which Michel Menko had hurled at her like a threat: "I demand +it!" Suddenly she heard in the garden the baying of dogs, and she saw, +held in check by a domestic, Duna and Bundas, bounding through the masses +of flowers toward the gate, where a man appeared, whom Marsa, leaning +over the balcony, recognized at once. + +"The wretch!" she exclaimed between her clenched teeth. It was Menko. + +He must have debarked before reaching Paris, and have come to Maisons- +Lafitte in haste. + +Marsa's only thought, in the first moment of anger, was to refuse to see +him. "I can not," she thought, "I will not!" Then suddenly her mind +changed. It was braver and more worthy of her to meet the danger face to +face. She rang, and said to the domestic who answered the bell: "Show +Count Menko into the little salon." + +"We shall see what he will dare," muttered the Tzigana, glancing at the +mirror as if to see whether she appeared to tremble before danger and an +enemy. + +The little salon into which the young Count was introduced was in the +left wing of the villa; and it was Marsa's favorite room, because it was +so quiet there. She had furnished it with rare taste, in half Byzantine +and half Hindoo fashion--a long divan running along the wall, covered +with gray silk striped with garnet; Persian rugs cast here and there at +random; paintings by Petenkofen--Hungarian farms and battle-scenes, +sentinels lost in the snow; two consoles loaded with books, reviews, and +bric-a-brac; and a round table with Egyptian incrustations, covered with +an India shawl, upon which were fine bronzes of Lanceray, and little +jewelled daggers. + +This salon communicated with a much larger one, where General Vogotzine +usually took his siesta, and which Marsa abandoned to him, preferring the +little room, the windows of which, framed in ivy, looked out upon the +garden, with the forest in the distance. + +Michel Menko was well acquainted with this little salon, where he had +more than once seen Marsa seated at the piano playing her favorite airs. +He remembered it all so well, and, nervously twisting his moustache, he +longed for her to make her appearance. He listened for the frou-frou of +Marsa's skirts on the other side of the lowered portiere which hung +between the two rooms; but he heard no sound. + +The General had shaken hands with Michel, as he passed through the large +salon, saying, in his thick voice: + +"Have you come to see Marsa? You have had enough of that water-party, +then? It was very pretty; but the sun was devilish hot. My head is +burning now; but it serves me right for not remaining quiet at home." + +Then he raised his heavy person from the armchair he had been sitting in, +and went out into the garden, saying: "I prefer to smoke in the open air; +it is stifling in here." Marsa, who saw Vogotzine pass out, let him go, +only too willing to have him at a distance during her interview with +Michel Menko; and then she boldly entered the little salon, where the +Count, who had heard her approach, was standing erect as if expecting +some attack. + +Marsa closed the door behind her; and, before speaking a word, the two +faced each other, as if measuring the degree of hardihood each possessed. +The Tzigana, opening fire first, said, bravely and without preamble: + +"Well, you wished to see me. Here I am! What do you want of me?" + +"To ask you frankly whether it is true, Marsa, that you are about to +marry Prince Zilah." + +She tried to laugh; but her laugh broke nervously off. She said, +however, ironically: + +"Oh! is it for that that you are here?" + +"Yes." + +"It was perfectly useless, then, for you to take the trouble: you ask me +a thing which you know well, which all the world knows, which all the +world must have told you, since you had the audacity to be present at +that fete to-day." + +"That is true," said Michel, coldly; "but I only learned it by chance. +I wished to hear it from your own lips." + +"Do I owe you any account of my conduct?" asked Marsa, with crushing +hauteur. + +He was silent a moment, strode across the room, laid his hat down upon +the little table, and suddenly becoming humble, not in attitude, but in +voice, said: + +"Listen, Marsa: you are a hundred times right to hate me. I have +deceived you, lied to you. I have conducted myself in a manner unworthy +of you, unworthy of myself. But to atone for my fault--my crime, if you +will--I am ready to do anything you order, to be your miserable slave, +in order to obtain the pardon which I have come to ask of you, and which +I will ask on my knees, if you command me to do so." + +The Tzigana frowned. + +"I have nothing to pardon you, nothing to command you," she said with an +air more wearied than stern, humiliating, and disdainful. "I only ask +you to leave me in peace, and never appear again in my life." + +"So! I see that you do not understand me," said Michel, with sudden +brusqueness. + +"No, I acknowledge it, not in the least." + +"When I asked you whether you were to marry Prince Andras, didn't you +understand that I asked you also another thing: Will you marry me, me-- +Michel Menko?" + +"You!" cried the Tzigana. + +And there was in this cry, in this "You!" ejaculated with a rapid +movement of recoil-amazement, fright, scorn, and anger. + +"You!" she said again. And Michel Menko felt in this word a mass of +bitter rancor and stifled hatred which suddenly burst its bonds. + +"Yes, me!" he said, braving the insult of Marsa's cry and look. "Me, +who love you, and whom you have loved!" + +"Ah, don't dare to say that!" she cried, drawing close to the little +table where the daggers rested amid the objects of art. "Don't be vile +enough to speak to me of a past of which nothing remains to me but +disgust! Let not one word which recalls it to me mount to your lips, +not one, you understand, or I will kill you like the coward you are!" + +"Do so, Marsa!" he cried with wild, mad passion. "I should die by your +hand, and you would not marry that man!" + +Afraid of herself, wresting her eyes from the glittering daggers, she +threw herself upon the divan, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, and +watched, with the look of a tigress, Michel, who said to her now, in a +voice which trembled with the tension of his feelings: "You must know +well, Marsa, that death is not the thing that can frighten a man like me! +What does frighten me is that, having lost you once, I may lose you +forever; to know that another will be your husband, will love you, will +receive your kisses. The very idea that that is possible drives me +insane. I feel myself capable of any deed of madness to prevent it. +Marsa! Marsa! You did love me once!" + +"I love honor, truth, justice," said Marsa, sternly and implacably. +"I thought I loved you; but I never did." + +"You did not love me?" he said. + +This cruel recalling of the past, which was the remorse of her life, was +like touching her flesh with a red-hot iron. + +"No, no, no! I did not love you! I repeat, I thought I loved you. +What did I know of life when I met you? I was suffering, ill; I thought +myself dying, and I never heard a word of pity fall from any other lips +than yours. I thought you were a man of honor. You were only a wretch. +You deceived me; you represented yourself to me as free--and you were +married. Weakly--oh, I could kill myself at the very thought!-- +I listened to you! I took for love the trite phrases you had used to +dozens of other women; half by violence, half by ruse, you became my +lover. I do not know when--I do not know how. I try to forget that +horrible dream; and when, deluded by you, thinking that what I felt for +you was love, for I did think so, I imagined that I had given myself for +life to a man worthy of the deepest devotion, ready for all sacrifices +for me, as I felt myself to be for him; when you had taken me, body and +soul, I learn by what? by a trifling conversation, by a chance, in a +crowded ballroom--that, this Michel Menko, whose name I was to bear, who +was to be my husband; this Count Menko, this man of honor, the one in +whom I believed blindly, was married! Married at Vienna, and had already +given away the name on which he traded! Oh, it is hideous!" And the +Tzigana, whose whole body was shuddering with horror, recoiled +instinctively to the edge of the divan as at the approach of some +detested contact. + +Michel, his face pale and convulsed, had listened to her with bowed head. + +"All that you say is the truth, Marsa; but I will give my life, my whole +life, to expiate that lie!" + +"There are infamies which are never effaced. There is no pardon for him +who has no excuse." + +"No excuse? Yes, Marsa; I have one! I have one: I loved you!" + +"And because you loved me, was it necessary for you to betray me, lie to +me, ruin me?" + +"What could I do? I did not love the woman I had married; you dawned on +me like a beautiful vision; I wished, hoping I know not what impossible +future, to be near you, to make you love me, and I did not dare to +confess that I was not free. If I lied to you, it was because I trembled +at not being able to surround you with my devotion; it was because I was +afraid to lose your love, knowing that the adoration I had for you would +never die till my heart was cold and dead! Upon all that is most sacred, +I swear this to you! I swear it!" + +He then recalled to her, while she sat rigid and motionless with an +expression of contempt and disdain upon her beautiful, proud lips, their +first meetings; that evening at Lady Brolway's, in Pau, where he had met +her for the first time; their conversation; the ineffaceable impression +produced upon him by her beauty; that winter season; the walks they had +taken together beneath the trees, which not a breath of wind stirred; +their excursions in the purple and gold valleys, with the Pyrenees in the +distance crowned with eternal snow. Did she not remember their long +talks upon the terrace, the evenings which felt like spring, and that day +when she had been nearly killed by a runaway horse, and he had seized the +animal by the bridle and saved her life? Yes, he had loved her, loved +her well; and it was because, possessing her love, he feared, like a +second Adam, to see himself driven out of paradise, that he had hidden +from Marsa the truth. If she had questioned one of the Hungarians or +Viennese, who were living at Pau, she could doubtless have known that +Count Menko, the first secretary of the embassy of Austria-Hungary at +Paris, had married the heiress of one of the richest families of Prague; +a pretty but unintelligent girl, not understanding at all the character +of her husband; detesting Vienna and Paris, and gradually exacting from +Menko that he should live at Prague, near her family, whose ancient ideas +and prejudices and inordinate love of money displeased the young +Hungarian. He was left free to act as he pleased; his wife would +willingly give up a part of her dowry to regain her independence. It was +only just, she said insolently, that, having been mistaken as to the +tastes of the man she had married for reasons of convenience rather than +of inclination, she should pay for her stupidity. Pay! The word made +the blood mount to Menko's face. If he had not been rich, as he was, he +would have hewn stone to gain his daily bread rather than touch a penny +of her money. He shook off the yoke the obstinate daughter of the +Bohemian gentleman would have imposed upon him, and departed, brusquely +breaking a union in which both husband and wife so terribly perceived +their error. + +Marsa might have known of all this if she had, for a moment, doubted +Menko's word. But how was she to suspect that the young Count was +capable of a lie or of concealing such a secret? Besides, she knew +hardly any one at Pau, as her physicians had forbidden her any +excitement; at the foot of the Pyrenees, she lived, as at Maisons- +Lafitte, an almost solitary life; and Michel Menko had been during that +winter, which he now recalled to Marsa, speaking of it as of a lost Eden, +her sole companion, the only guest of the house she inhabited with +Vogotzine in the neighborhood of the castle. + +Poor Marsa, enthusiastic, inexperienced, her heart enamored with +chivalrous audacity, intrepid courage, all the many virtues which were +those of Hungary herself; Marsa, her mind imbued from her infancy with +the almost fantastic recitals of the war of independence, and later, with +her readings and reflections; Marsa, full of the stories of the heroic +past-must necessarily have been the dupe of the first being who, coming +into her life, was the personal representative of the bravery and charm +of her race. So, when she encountered one day Michel Menko, she was +invincibly attracted toward him by something proud, brave, and +chivalrous, which was characteristic of the manly beauty of the young +Hungarian. She was then twenty, very ignorant of life, her great +Oriental eyes seeing nothing of stern reality; but, with all her +gentleness, there was a species of Muscovite firmness which was betrayed +in the contour of her red lips. It was in vain that sorrow had early +made her a woman; Marsa remained ignorant of the world, without any other +guide than Vogotzine; suffering and languid, she was fatally at the mercy +of the first lie which should caress her ear and stir her heart. From +the first, therefore, she had loved Michel; she had, as she herself said, +believed that she loved him with a love which would never end, a very +ingenuous love, having neither the silliness of a girl who has just left +the convent, nor the knowledge of a Parisienne whom the theatre and the +newspapers have instructed in all things. Michel, then, could give to +this virgin and pliable mind whatever bent he chose; and Marsa, pure as +the snow and brave as her own favorite heroes, became his without +resistance, being incapable of divining a treachery or fearing a lie. +Michel Menko, moreover, loved her madly; and he thought only of winning +and keeping the love of this incomparable maiden, exquisite in her +combined gentleness and pride. The folly of love mounted to his brain +like intoxication, and communicated itself to the poor girl who believed +in him as if he were the living faith; and, in the madness of his +passion, Michel, without being a coward, committed a cowardly action. + +No: a coward he certainly was not. He was one of those nervous natures, +as prompt to hope as to despair, going to all extremes, at times +foolishly gay, and at others as grave and melancholy as Hamlet. There +were days when Menko did not value his life at a penny, and when he asked +himself seriously if suicide were not the simplest means to reach the +end; and again, at the least ray of sunshine, he became sanguine and +hopeful to excess. Of undoubted courage, he would have faced the muzzle +of a loaded cannon out of mere bravado, at the same time wondering, with +a sarcastic smile upon his lips, 'Cui bono'? + +He sometimes called heroism a trick; and yet, in everyday life, he had +not much regard for tricksters. Excessively fond of movement, activity, +and excitement, he yet counted among his happiest days those spent in +long meditations and inactive dreams. He was a strange combination of +faults and good qualities, without egregious vices, but all his virtues +capable of being annihilated by passion, anger, jealousy, or grief. With +such a nature, everything was possible: the sublimity of devotion, or a +fall into the lowest infamy. He often said, in self-analysis: "I am +afraid of myself." In short, his strength was like a house built upon +sand; all, in a day, might crumble. + +"If I had to choose the man I should prefer to be," he said once, "I +would be Prince Andras Zilah, because he knows neither my useless +discouragements, apropos of everything and nothing, nor my childish +delights, nor my hesitations, nor my confidence, which at times +approaches folly as my misanthropy approaches injustice; and because, +in my opinion, the supreme virtue in a man is firmness." + +The Zilahs were connected by blood with the Menkos, and Prince Andras was +very fond of this young man, who promised to Hungary one of those +diplomats capable of wielding at once the pen and the sword, and who in +case of war, before drawing up a protocol, would have dictated its terms, +sabre in hand. Michel indeed stood high with his chief in the embassy, +and he was very much sought after in society. Before the day he met +Marsa, he had, to tell the truth, only experienced the most trivial love- +affairs. + +He did not speak of his wife at Pau any more than he did on the +boulevards. She lived far away, in the old city of Prague, and troubled +Michel no more than if she had never existed. Perhaps he had forgotten, +really forgotten, with that faculty of forgetfulness which belongs to the +imaginative, that he was married, when he encountered Marsa, the candid, +pure-hearted girl, who did not reflect nor calculate, but simply believed +that she had met a man of honor. + +So, what sudden revolt, humiliation, and hatred did the poor child feel +when she learned that the man in whom she had believed as in a god had +deceived her, lied to her! He was married. He had treated her as the +lowest of women; perhaps he had never even loved her! The very thought +made her long to kill herself, or him, or both. She, unhappy, miserable +woman, was ruined, ruined forever! + +She had certainly never stopped to think where the love she had for +Michel would lead her. She thought of nothing except that Michel was +hers, and she was his, and she believed that their love would last +forever. She did not think that she had long to live, and her existence +seemed to her only a breath which any moment might cease. Why had she +not died before she knew that Menko had lied? + +All deception seemed hideous to Marsa Laszlo, and this hideousness she +had discovered in the man to whom she had given herself, believing in the +eternity as well as in the loyalty of his love. + +It was at a ball, at the English embassy, after her return from Pau, +that, while smiling and happy, she overheard between two Viennese, +strangers to her, this short dialogue, every word of which was like a +knife in her heart: "What a charming fellow that Menko is!" "Yes; is his +wife ugly or a humpback? or is he jealous as Othello? She is never +seen." "His wife! Is he married?" "Yes: he married a Blavka, the +daughter of Angel Blavka, of Prague. Didn't you know it?" + +Married! + +Marsa felt her head reel, and the sudden glance she cast at the speakers +silenced, almost terrified them. Half insane, she reached home, she +never knew how. The next day Michel Menko presented himself at her +apartments in the hotel where she was living; she ordered him out of her +presence, not allowing him to offer any excuse or explanation. + +"You are married, and you are a coward!" + +He threw himself at her knees, and implored her to listen to him. + +"Go! Go!" + +"But our love, Marsa? For I love you, and you love me." + +"I hate and scorn you. My love is dead. You have killed it. All is +over. Go! And let me never know that there exists a Michel Menko in the +world! Never! Never! Never!" + +He felt his own cowardice and shame, and he disappeared, not daring again +to see the woman whose love haunted him, and who shut herself away from +the world more obstinately than ever. She left Paris, and in the +solitude of Maisons-Lafitte lived the life of a recluse, while Michel +tried in vain to forget the bitterness of his loss. The Tzigana hoped +that she was going to die, and bear away with her forever the secret of +her betrayal. But no; science had been mistaken; the poor girl was +destined to live. In spite of her sorrow and anguish, her beauty +blossomed in the shade, and she seemed each day to grow more lovely, +while her heart became more sad, and her despair more poignant. + +Then death, which would not take Marsa, came to another, and gave Menko +an opportunity to repair and efface all. He learned that his wife had +died suddenly at Prague, of a malady of the heart. This death, which +freed him, produced a strange effect upon him, not unmingled with +remorse. Poor woman! She had worthily borne his name, after all. +Unintelligent, cold, and wrapped up in her money, she had never +understood him; but, perhaps, if he had been more patient, things might +have gone better between them. + +But no; Marsa was his one, his never-to-be-forgotten love. As soon as he +heard of his freedom, he wrote her a letter, telling her that he was able +now to dispose of his future as he would, imploring her to pardon him, +offering her not his love, since she repelled it, but his name, which was +her right--a debt of honor which he wished her to acquit with the +devotion of his life. Marsa answered simply with these words: "I will +never bear the name of a man I despise." + +The wound made in her heart by Menko's lie was incurable; the Tzigana +would never forgive. He tried to see her again, confident that, if he +should be face to face with her, he could find words to awaken the past +and make it live again; but she obstinately refused to see him, and, as +she did not go into society, he never met her. Then he cast himself, +with a sort of frenzy, into the dissipation of Paris, trying to forget, +to forget at any cost: failing in this, he resigned his position at the +embassy, and went away to seek adventure, going to fight in the Balkans +against the Russians, only to return weary and bored as he had departed, +always invincibly and eternally haunted by the image of Marsa, an image +sad as a lost love, and grave as remorse. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +"MY LETTERS OR MYSELF" + +It was that past, that terrible past, which Michel Menko had dared to +come and speak of to the Tzigana. At first, she had grown crimson with +anger, as if at an insult; now, by a sudden opposite sentiment, as she +listened to him recalling those days, she felt an impression of deadly +pain as if an old wound had been reopened. Was it true that all this had +ever existed? Was it possible, even? + +The man who had been her lover was speaking to her; he was speaking to +her of his love; and, if the terrible agony of memory had not burned in +her heart, she would have wondered whether this man before her, this sort +of stranger, had ever even touched her hand. + +She waited, with the idle curiosity of a spectator who had no share in +the drama, for the end of Menko's odious argument: "I lied because I +loved you!" + +He returned again and again, in the belief that women easily forgive the +ill-doing of which they are the cause, to that specious plea, and Marsa +asked herself, in amazement, what aberration had possession of this man +that he should even pretend to excuse his infamy thus. + +"And is that," she said at last, "all that you have to say to me? +According to you, the thief has only to cry 'What could I do? I loved +that money, and so I stole it.' Ah," rising abruptly, "this interview +has lasted too long! Good-evening!" + +She walked steadily toward the door; but Michel, hastening round the +other side of the table, barred her exit, speaking in a suppliant tone, +in which, however, there was a hidden threat: + +"Marsa! Marsa, I implore you, do not marry Prince Andras! Do not marry +him if you do not wish some horrible tragedy to happen to you and me!" + +"Really?" she retorted. "Do I understand that it is you who now +threaten to kill me?" + +"I do not threaten; I entreat, Marsa. But you know all that there is in +me at times of madness and folly. I am almost insane: you know it well. +Have pity upon me! I love you as no woman was ever loved before; I live +only in you; and, if you should give yourself to another--" + +"Ah!" she said, interrupting him with a haughty gesture, "you speak to me +as if you had a right to dictate my actions. I have given you my +forgetfulness after giving you my love. That is enough, I think. +Leave me!" + +"Marsa!" + +"I have hoped for a long time that I was forever delivered from your +presence. I commanded you to disappear. Why have you returned?" + +"Because, after I saw you one evening at Baroness Dinati's (do you +remember? you spoke to the Prince for the first time that evening), I +learned, in London, of this marriage. If I have consented to live away +from you previously, it was because, although you were no longer mine, +you at least were no one else's; but I will not--pardon me, I can not-- +endure the thought that your beauty, your grace, will be another's. +Think of the self-restraint I have placed upon myself! Although living +in Paris, I have not tried to see you again, Marsa, since you drove me +from your presence; it was by chance that I met you at the Baroness's; +but now--" + +"It is another woman you have before you. A woman who ignores that she +has listened to your supplications, yielded to your prayers. It is a +woman who has forgotten you, who does not even know that a wretch has +abused her ignorance and her confidence, and who loves--who loves as one +loves for the first time, with a pure and holy devotion, the man whose +name she is to bear." + +"That man I respect as honor itself. Had it been another, I should +already have struck him in the face. But you who accuse me of having +lied, are you going to lie to him, to him?" + +Marsa became livid, and her eyes, hollow as those of a person sick to +death, flamed in the black circles which surrounded them. + +"I have no answer to make to one who has no right to question me," she +said. "But, should I have to pay with my life for the moment of +happiness I should feel in placing my hand in the hand of a hero, I would +grasp that moment!" + +"Then," cried Menko, "you wish to push me to extremities! And yet I have +told you there are certain hours of feverish insanity in which I am +capable of committing a crime." + +"I do not doubt it," replied the young girl, coldly. "But, in fact, you +have already done that. There is no crime lower than that of treachery." + +"There is one more terrible," retorted Michel Menko. "I have told you +that I loved you. I love you a hundred times more now than ever before. +Jealousy, anger, whatever sentiment you choose to call it, makes my blood +like fire in my veins! I see you again as you were. I feel your kisses +on my lips. I love you madly, passionately! Do you understand, Marsa? +Do you understand?" and he approached with outstretched hands the +Tzigana, whose frame was shaken with indignant anger. "Do you +understand? I love you still. I was your lover, and I will, I will be +so again." + +"Ah, miserable coward!" cried the Tzigana, with a rapid glance toward +the daggers, before which stood Menko, preventing her from advancing, and +regarding her with eyes which burned with reckless passion, wounded self- +love, and torturing jealousy. "Yes, coward!" she repeated, "coward, +coward to dare to taunt me with an infamous past and speak of a still +more infamous future!" + +"I love you!" exclaimed Menko again. + +"Go!" she cried, crushing him with look and gesture. "Go! I order you +out of my presence, lackey! Go!" + +All the spirit of the daughters of the puszta, the violent pride of her +Hungarian blood, flashed from her eyes; and Menko, fascinated, gazed at +her as if turned to stone, as she stood there magnificent in her anger, +superb in her contempt. + +"Yes, I will go to-day," he said at last, "but tomorrow night I shall +come again, Marsa. As my dearest treasure, I have preserved the key of +that gate I opened once to meet you who were waiting for me in the shadow +of the trees. Have you forgotten that, also? You say you have forgotten +all." + +And as he spoke, she saw again the long alley behind the villa, ending in +a small gate which, one evening after the return from Pau, Michel opened, +and came, as he said, to meet her waiting for him. It was true. Yes, it +was true. Menko did not lie this time! She had waited for him there, +two years before, unhappy girl that she was! All that hideous love she +had believed lay buried in Pau as in a tomb. + +"Listen, Marsa," continued Menko, suddenly recovering, by a strong effort +of the will, his coolness, "I must see you once again, have one more +opportunity to plead my cause. The letters you wrote to me, those dear +letters which I have covered with my kisses and blistered with my tears, +those letters which I have kept despite your prayers and your commands, +those letters which have been my only consolation--I will bring them to +you to-morrow night. Do you understand me?" + +Her great eyes fixed, and her lips trembling horribly, Marsa made no +reply. + +"Do you understand me, Marsa?" he repeated, imploring and threatening at +once. + +"Yes," she murmured at last. + +She paused a moment; then a broken, feverish laugh burst from her lips, +and she continued, with stinging irony: + +"Either my letters or myself! It is a bargain pure and simple! Such a +proposition has been made once before--it is historical--you probably +remember it. In that case, the woman killed herself. I shall act +otherwise, believe me!" + +There was in her icy tones a threat, which gave pleasure to Michel Menko. +He vaguely divined a danger. "You mean?" he asked. + +"I mean, you must never again appear before me. You must go to London, +to America; I don't care where. You must be dead to the one you have +cowardly betrayed. You must burn or keep those letters, it little +matters to me which; but you must still be honorable enough not to use +them as a weapon against me. This interview, which wearies more than it +angers me, must be the last. You must leave me to my sorrows or my joys, +without imagining that you could ever have anything in common with a +woman who despises you. You have crossed the threshold of this house for +the last time. Or, if not--Ah! if not--I swear to you that I have energy +enough and resolution enough to defend myself alone, and alone to punish +you! In your turn, you understand me, I imagine?" + +"Certainly," said Michel. "But you are too imprudent, Marsa. I am not a +man to make recoil by speaking of danger. Through the gate, or over the +wall if the gate is barricaded, I shall come to you again, and you will +have to listen to me." + +The lip of the Tzigana curled disdainfully. + +"I shall not even change the lock of that gate, and besides, the large +gate of the garden remains open these summer nights. You see that you +have only to come. But I warn you neither to unlock the one nor to pass +through the other. It is not I whom you will find at the rendezvous." + +"Still, I am sure that it would be you, blarsa, if I should tell you that +to-morrow evening I shall be under the window of the pavilion at the end +of the garden, and that you must meet me there to receive from my hand +your letters, all your letters, which I shall bring you." + +"Do you think so?" + +"I am certain of it." + +"Certain? Why?" + +"Because you will reflect." + +"I have had time to reflect. Give me another reason." + +"Another reason is that you can not afford to leave such proofs in my +hands. I assure you that it would be folly to make of a man like me, who +would willingly die for you, an open and implacable enemy." + +"I understand. A man like you would die willingly for a woman, but he +insults and threatens her, like the vilest of men, with a punishment more +cruel than death itself. Well! it matters little to me. I shall not be +in the pavilion where you have spoken to me of your love, and I will have +it torn down and the debris of it burned within three days. I shall not +await you. I shall never see you again. I do not fear you. And I leave +you the right of doing with those letters what you please!" + +Then, surveying him from head to foot, as if to measure the degree of +audacity to which he could attain, "Adieu!" she said. + +"Au revoir!" he rejoined coldly, giving to the salutation an emphasis +full of hidden meaning. + +The Tzigana stretched out her hand, and pulled a silken bellcord. + +A servant appeared. + +"Show this gentleman out," she said, very quietly. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +"HAVE I THE RIGHT TO LIE?" + +Then the Tzigana,'s romance, in which she had put all her faith and her +belief, had ended, like a bad dream, she said to herself: "My life is +over!" + +What remained to her? Expiation? Forgetfulness? + +She thought of the cloister and the life of prayer of those blue sisters +she saw under the trees of Maisons-Lafitte. She lived in the solitude of +her villa, remaining there during the winter in a melancholy tete-a-tete +with old Vogotzine, who was always more or less under the effect of +liquor. Then, as death would not take her, she gradually began to go +into Parisian society, slowly forgetting the past, and the folly which +she had taken for love little by little faded mistily away. It was like +a recovery from an illness, or the disappearance of a nightmare in the +dawn of morning. Now, Marsa Laszlo, who, two years before, had longed +for annihilation and death, occasionally thought the little Baroness +Dinati right when she said, in her laughing voice: "What are you thinking +of, my dear child? Is it well for a girl of your age to bury herself +voluntarily and avoid society?" She was then twenty-four: in three or +four years she had aged mentally ten; but her beautiful oval face had +remained unchanged, with the purity of outline of a Byzantine Madonna. + +Then--life has its awakenings--she met Prince Andras: all her admirations +as a girl, her worship of patriotism and heroism, flamed forth anew; her +heart, which she had thought dead, throbbed, as it had never throbbed +before, at the sound of the voice of this man, truly loyal, strong and +gentle, and who was (she knew it well, the unhappy girl!) the being for +whom she was created, the ideal of her dreams. She loved him silently, +but with a deep and eternal passion; she loved him without saying to +herself that she no longer had any right to love. Did she even think of +her past? Does one longer think of the storm when the wind has driven +off the heavy, tear-laden clouds, and the thunder has died away in the +distance? It seemed to her now that she had never had but one name in +her heart, and upon her lips--Zilah. + +And then this man, this hero, her hero, asked her hand, and said to her, +"I love you." + +Andras loved her! With what a terrible contraction of the heart did she +put to herself the formidable question: "Have I the right to lie? Shall +I have the courage to confess?" + +She held in her grasp the most perfect happiness a woman could hope for, +the dream of her whole life; and, because a worthless scoundrel had +deceived her, because there were, in her past, hours which she remembered +only to curse, effaced hours, hours which appeared to her now never to +have existed, was she obliged to ruin her life, to break her heart, and, +herself the victim, to pay for the lie uttered by a coward? Was it +right? Was it just? Was she to be forever bound to that past, like a +corpse to its grave? What! She had no longer the right to love? no +longer the right to live? + +She adored Andras; she would have given her life for him. And he also +loved her; she was the first woman who had ever touched his heart. He +had evidently felt himself isolated, with his old chivalrous ideas, in a +world devoted to the worship of low things, tangible successes, and +profitable realities. He was, so to speak, a living anachronism in the +midst of a society which had faith in nothing except victorious +brutalities, and which marched on, crushing, beneath its iron-shod heels, +the hopes and visions of the enthusiastic. He recalled those evenings +after a battle when, in the woods reddened by the setting sun, his father +and Varhely said to him: "Let us remain to the last, and protect the +retreat!" And it seemed to him that, amid the bestialities of the moment +and the vulgarities of the century, he still protected the retreat of +misunderstood virtues and generous enthusiasms; and it pleased him to be +the rear guard of chivalry in defeat. + +He shut himself up obstinately in his isolation, like Marsa in her +solitude; and he did not consider himself ridiculously absurd or +foolishly romantic, when he remembered that his countrymen, the +Hungarians, were the only people, perhaps, who, in the abasement of all +Europe before the brutality of triumph and omnipotent pessimism, had +preserved their traditions of idealism, chivalry, and faith in the old +honor; the Hungarian nationality was also the only one which had +conquered its conquerors by its virtues, its persistence in its hopes, +its courage, its contempt of all baseness, its extraordinary heroism, and +had finally imposed its law upon Austria, bearing away the old empire as +on the croup of its horse toward the vast plains of liberty. The ideal +would, therefore, have its moments of victory: an entire people proved it +in history. + +"Let this world boast," said Andras, "of the delights of its villainy, +and grovel in all that is low and base. Life is not worth living unless +the air one breathes is pure and free! Man is not the brother of swine!" + +And these same ideas, this same faith, this same dreamy nature and +longing for all that is generous and brave, he suddenly found again in +the heart of Marsa. She represented to him a new and happy existence. +Yes, he thought, she would render him happy; she would understand him, +aid him, surround him with the fondest love that man could desire. And +she, also, thinking of him, felt herself capable of any sacrifice. Who +could tell? Perhaps the day would come when it would be necessary to +fight again; then she would follow him, and interpose her breast between +him and the balls. What happiness to die in saving him! But, no, no! +To live loving him, making him happy, was her duty now; and was it +necessary to renounce this delight because hated kisses had once soiled +her lips? No, she could not! And yet--and yet, strict honor whispered +to Marsa, that she should say No to the Prince; she had no right to his +love. + +But, if she should reject Andras, he would die, Varhely had said it. +She would then slay two beings, Andras and herself, with a single word. +She! She did not count! But he! And yet she must speak. But why +speak? Was it really true that she had ever loved another? Who was it? +The one whom she worshipped with all her heart, with all the fibres of +her being, was Andras! Oh, to be free to love him! Marsa's sole hope +and thought were now to win, some day, forgiveness for having said +nothing by the most absolute devotion that man had ever encountered. +Thinking continually these same thoughts, always putting off taking a +decision till the morrow, fearing to break both his heart and hers, +the Tzigana let the time slip by until the day came when the fete in +celebration of her betrothal was to take place. And on that very day +Michel Menko appeared before her, not abashed, but threatening. Her +dream of happiness ended in this reality--Menko saying: "You have been +mine; you shall be mine again, or you are lost!" + +Lost! And how? + +With cold resolution, Marsa Laszlo asked herself this question, terrible +as a question of life or death: + +"What would the Prince do, if, after I became his wife, he should learn +the truth?" + +"What would he do? He would kill me," thought the Tzigana. "He would +kill me. So much the better!" It was a sort of a bargain which she +proposed to herself, and which her overwhelming love dictated. + +"To be his wife, and with my life to pay for that moment of happiness! +If I should speak now, he would fly from me, I should never see him +again--and I love him. Well, I sacrifice what remains to me of existence +to be happy for one short hour!" She grew to think that she had a right +thus to give her life for her love, to belong to Andras, to be the wife +of that hero if only for a day, and to die then, to die saying to him: +"I was unworthy of you, but I loved you; here, strike!" Or rather to say +nothing, to be loved, to take opium or digitalis, and to fall asleep with +this last supremely happy thought: "I am his wife, and he loves me!" +What power in the world could prevent her from realizing her dream? +Would she resemble Michel in lying thus? No; since she would immediately +sacrifice herself without hesitation, with joy, for the honor of her +husband. + +"Yes, my life against his love. I shall be his wife and die!" + +She did not think that, in sacrificing her life, she would condemn Zilah +to death. Or rather, with one of those subterfuges by which we +voluntarily deceive ourselves, she thought: "He will be consoled for my +death, if he ever learns what I was." But why should he ever learn it? +She would take care to die so that it should be thought an accident. + +Marsa's resolve was taken. She had contracted a debt, and she would pay +it with her blood. Michel now mattered little to her, let him do what he +would. The young man's threat: "To-morrow night!" returned to her mind +without affecting her in the least. The contemptuous curl of her lip +seemed silently to brave Michel Menko. + +In all this there was a different manifestation of her double nature: in +her love for Andras and her longing to become his wife, the blood of the +Tzigana, her mother, spoke; Prince Tchereteff, the Russian, on the other +hand, revived in her silent, cold bravado. + +She lay down to rest, still feverish from the struggle, and worn out, +slept till morning, to awaken calm, languid, but almost happy. + +She passed the whole of the following day in the garden, wondering at +times if the appearance of Menko and his tomorrow were not a dream, a +nightmare. Tomorrow? That was to-day. + +"Yes, yes, he will come! He is quite capable of coming," she murmured. + +She despised him enough to believe that he would dare, this time, to keep +his word. + +Lying back in a low wicker chair, beneath a large oak, whose trunk was +wreathed with ivy, she read or thought the hours away. A Russian belt, +enamelled with gold and silver, held together her trailing white robes of +India muslin, trimmed with Valenciennes, and a narrow scarlet ribbon +encircled her throat like a line of blood. The sunlight, filtering +through the leaves, flickered upon her dress and clear, dark cheeks, +while, near by, a bush of yellow roses flung its fragrance upon the air. +The only sound in the garden was the gentle rustle of the trees, which +recalled to her the distant murmur of the sea. Gradually she entirely +forgot Michel, and thought only of the happy moments of the previous day, +of the boat floating down the Seine past the silvery willows on the banks +of the sparkling water, of the good people on the barge calling out to +her, "Be happy! be happy!" and the little children throwing smiling +kisses to her. + +A gentle languor enveloped the warm, sunny garden. Old Sol poured his +golden light down upon the emerald turf, the leafy trees, the brilliant +flowerbeds and the white walls of the villa. Under the green arch of the +trees, where luminous insects, white and flame-colored butterflies, +aimlessly chased one another, Marsa half slumbered in a sort of +voluptuous oblivion, a happy calm, in that species of nirvana which the +open air of summer brings. She felt herself far away from the entire +world in that corner of verdure, and abandoned herself to childish hopes +and dreams, in profound enjoyment of the beautiful day. + +The Baroness Dinati came during the afternoon to see Marsa; she fluttered +out into the garden, dressed in a clinging gown of some light, fluffy +material, with a red umbrella over her head; and upon her tiny feet, of +all things in the world, ebony sabots, bearing her monogram in silver +upon the instep. It was a short visit, made up of the chatter and gossip +of Paris. Little Jacquemin's article upon Prince Zilah's nautical fete +had created a furore. That little Jacquemin was a charming fellow; Marsa +knew him. No! Really? What! she didn't know Jacquemin of +'L'Actualite'? Oh! but she must invite him to the wedding, he would +write about it, he wrote about everything; he was very well informed, was +Jacquemin, on every subject, even on the fashions. + +"Look! It was he who told me that these sabots were to be worn. The +miserable things nearly mademe break my neck when I entered the carriage; +but they are something new. They attract attention. Everybody says, +What are they? And when one has pretty feet, not too large, you know," +etc., etc. + +She rattled on, moistening her pretty red lips with a lemonade, and +nibbling a cake, and then hastily departed just as Prince Andras's +carriage stopped before the gate. The Baroness waved her hand to him +with a gay smile, crying out: + +"I will not take even a minute of your time. You have to-day something +pleasanter to do than to occupy yourself with poor, insignificant me!" + +Marsa experienced the greatest delight in seeing Andras, and listening to +the low, tender accents of his voice; she felt herself to be loved and +protected. She gave herself up to boundless hopes--she, who had before +her, perhaps, only a few days of life. She felt perfectly happy near +Andras; and it seemed to her that to-day his manner was tenderer, the +tones of his voice more caressing, than usual. + +"I was right to believe in chimeras," he said, "since all that I longed +for at twenty years is realized to-day. Very often, dear Marsa, when I +used to feel sad and discouraged, I wondered whether my life lay behind +me. But I was longing for you, that was all. I knew instinctively that +there existed an exquisite woman, born for me, my wife--my wife! and I +waited for you." + +He took her hands, and gazed upon her face with a look of infinite +tenderness. + +"And suppose that you had not found me?" she asked. + +"I should have continued to drag out a weary existence. Ask Varhely what +I have told him of my life." + +Marsa felt her heart sink within her; but she forced herself to smile. +All that Varhely had said to her returned to her mind. Yes, Zilah had +staked his very existence upon her love. To drag aside the veil from his +illusion would be like tearing away the bandages from a wound. +Decidedly, the resolution she had taken was the best one--to say nothing, +but, in the black silence of suicide, which would be at once a +deliverance and a punishment, to disappear, leaving to Zilah only a +memory. + +But why not die now? Ah! why? why? To this eternal question Marsa +made reply, that, for deceiving him by becoming his wife, she would pay +with her life. A kiss, then death. In deciding to act a lie, she +condemned herself. She only sought to give to her death the appearance +of an accident, not wishing to leave to Andras the double memory of a +treachery and a crime. + +She listened to the Prince as he spoke of the future, of all the +happiness of their common existence. She listened as if her resolution +to die had not been taken, and as if Zilah was promising her, not a +minute, but an eternity, of joy. + +General Vogotzine and Marsa accompanied the Prince to the station, he +having come to Maisons by the railway. The Tzigana's Danish hounds went +with them, bounding about Andras, and licking his hands as he caressed +them. + +"They already know the master," laughed Vogotzine. "I have rarely seen +such gentle animals," remarked the Prince. + +"Gentle? That depends!" said Marsa. + +After separating from the Prince, she returned, silent and abstracted, +with Vogotzine. She saw Andras depart with a mournful sadness, and a +sudden longing to have him stay--to protect her, to defend her, to be +there if Michel should come. + +It was already growing dark when they reached home. Marsa ate but little +at dinner, and left Vogotzine alone to finish his wine. + +Later, the General came, as usual, to bid his niece goodnight. He found +Marsa lying upon the divan in the little salon. + +"Don't you feel well? What is the matter?" + +"Nothing." + +"I feel a little tired, and I was going to bed. You don't care to have +me keep you company, do you, my dear?" + +Sometimes he was affectionate to her, and sometimes he addressed her with +timid respect; but Marsa never appeared to notice the difference. + +"I prefer to remain alone," she answered. + +The General shrugged his shoulders, bent over, took Marsa's delicate hand +in his, and kissed it as he would have kissed that of a queen. + +Left alone, Marsa lay there motionless for more than an hour. Then she +started suddenly, hearing the clock strike eleven, and rose at once. + +The domestics had closed the house. She went out by a back door which +was used by the servants, the key of which was in the lock. + +She crossed the garden, beneath the dark shadows of the trees, with a +slow, mechanical movement, like that of a somnambulist, and proceeded to +the kennel, where the great Danish hounds and the colossus of the +Himalayas were baying, and rattling their chains. + +"Peace, Ortog! Silence, Duna!" + +At the sound of her voice, the noise ceased as by enchantment. + +She pushed open the door of the kennel, entered, and caressed the heads +of the dogs, as they placed their paws upon her shoulders. Then she +unfastened their chains, and in a clear, vibrating voice, said to them: + +"Go!" + +She saw them bound out, run over the lawn, and dash into the bushes, +appearing and disappearing like great, fantastic shadows, in the pale +moonlight. Then, slowly, and with the Muscovite indifference which her +father, Prince Tchereteff, might have displayed when ordering a spy or a +traitor to be shot, she retraced her steps to the house, where all seemed +to sleep, murmuring, with cold irony, in a sort of impersonal +affirmation, as if she were thinking not of herself, but of another: + +"Now, I hope that Prince Zilah's fiancee is well guarded!" + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +"AS CLINGS THE LEAF UNTO THE TREE" + +Michel Menko was alone in the little house he had hired in Paris, in the +Rue d'Aumale. He had ordered his coachman to have his coupe in readiness +for the evening. "Take Trilby," he said. "He is a better horse than +Jack, and we have a long distance to go; and take some coverings for +yourself, Pierre. Until this evening, I am at home to no one." + +The summer day passed very slowly for him in the suspense of waiting. He +opened and read the letters of which he had spoken to Marsa the evening +before; they always affected him like a poison, to which he returned +again and again with a morbid desire for fresh suffering--love-letters, +the exchange of vows now borne away as by a whirlwind, but which revived +in Michel's mind happy hours, the only hours of his life in which he had +really lived, perhaps. These letters, dated from Pau, burned him like a +live coal as he read them. They still retained a subtle perfume, a +fugitive aroma, which had survived their love, and which brought Marsa +vividly before his eyes. Then, his heart bursting with jealousy and +rage, he threw the package into the drawer from which he had taken it, +and mechanically picked up a volume of De Musset, opening to some page +which recalled his own suffering. Casting this aside, he took up another +book, and his eyes fell upon the passionate verses of the soldier-poet, +Petoefi, addressed to his Etelka: + + Thou lovest me not? What matters it? + My soul is linked to thine, + As clings the leaf unto the tree: + Cold winter comes; it falls; let be! + So I for thee will pine. My fate pursues me to the tomb. + Thou fliest? Even in its gloom + Thou art not free. + What follows in thy steps? Thy shade? + Ah, no! my soul in pain, sweet maid, + E'er watches thee. + +"My soul is linked to thine, as clings the leaf unto the tree!" Michel +repeated the lines with a sort of defiance in his look, and longed +impatiently and nervously for the day to end. + +A rapid flush of anger mounted to his face as his valet entered with a +card upon a salver, and he exclaimed, harshly: + +"Did not Pierre give you my orders that I would receive no one?" + +"I beg your pardon, Monsieur; but Monsieur Labanoff insisted so +strongly--" + +"Labanoff?" repeated Michel. + +"Monsieur Labanoff, who leaves Paris this evening, and desires to see +Monsieur before his departure." + +The name of Labanoff recalled to Michel an old friend whom he had met in +all parts of Europe, and whom he had not seen for a long time. He liked +him exceedingly for a sort of odd pessimism of aggressive philosophy, a +species of mysticism mingled with bitterness, which Labanoff took no +pains to conceal. The young Hungarian had, perhaps, among the men of his +own age, no other friend in the world than this Russian with odd ideas, +whose enigmatical smile puzzled and interested him. + +He looked at the clock. Labanoff's visit might make the time pass until +dinner. + +"Admit Monsieur Labanoff!" + +In a few moments Labanoff entered. He was a tall, thin young man, with a +complexion the color of wax, flashing eyes, and a little pointed +mustache. His hair, black and curly, was brushed straight up from his +forehead. He had the air of a soldier in his long, closely buttoned +frock-coat. + +It was many months since these two men had met; but they had been long +bound together by a powerful sympathy, born of quiet talks and +confidences, in which each had told the other of similar sufferings. +A long deferred secret hope troubled Labanoff as the memory of Marsa +devoured Menko; and they had many times exchanged dismal theories upon +the world, life, men, and laws. Their common bitterness united them. +And Michel received Labanoff, despite his resolution to receive no one, +because he was certain that he should find in him the same suffering as +that expressed by De Musset and Petoefi. + +Labanoff, to-day, appeared to him more enigmatical and gloomy than ever. +From the lips of the Russian fell only words of almost tragical mystery. + +Menko made him sit down by his side upon a divan, and he noticed that an +extraordinary fever seemed to burn in the blue eyes of his friend. + +"I learned that you had returned from London," said Labanoff; "and, as I +was leaving Paris, I wished to see you before my departure. It is +possible that we may never see each other again." + +"Why?" + +"I am going to St. Petersburg on pressing business." + +"Have you finished your studies in Paris?" + +"Oh! I had already received my medical diploma when I came here. I have +been living in Paris only to be more at my ease to pursue--a project +which interests me." + +"A project?" + +Menko asked the question mechanicaljy, feeling very little curiosity to +know Labanoff's secret; but the Russian's face wore a strange, ironical +smile as he answered: + +"I have nothing to say on that subject, even to the man for whom I have +the most regard." + +His brilliant eyes seemed to see strange visions before them. He +remained silent for a moment, and then rose with an abrupt movement. + +"There," he said, "that is all I had to tell you, my dear Menko. Now, +'au revoir', or rather, good-by; for, as I said before, I shall probably +never see you again." + +"And why, pray?" + +"Oh! I don't know; it is an idea of mine. And then, my beloved Russia +is such a strange country. Death comes quickly there." + +He had still upon his lips that inexplicable smile, jesting and sad at +once. + +Menko grasped the long, white hand extended to him. + +"My dear Labanoff, it is not difficult to guess that you are going on +some dangerous errand." Smiling: "I will not do you the injustice to +believe you a nihilist." + +Labanoff's blue eyes flashed. + +"No," he said, "no, I am not a nihilist. Annihilation is absurd; but +liberty is a fine thing!" + +He stopped short, as if he feared that he had already said too much. + +"Adieu, my dear Menko." + +The Hungarian detained him with a gesture, saying, with a tremble in his +voice: + +"Labanoff! You have found me when a crisis in my life is also impending. +I am about, like yourself, to commit a great folly; a different one from +yours, no doubt. However, I have no right to tell you that you are about +to commit some folly." + +"No," calmly replied the Russian, very pale, but still smiling, "it is +not a folly." + +"But it is a danger?" queried Menko. + +Labanoff made no reply. + +"I do not know either," said Michel, "how my affair will end. But, since +chance has brought us together today, face to face--" + +"It was not chance, but my own firm resolution to see you again before my +departure." + +"I know what your friendship for me is, and it is for that reason that I +ask you to tell me frankly where you will be in a month." + +"In a month?" repeated Labanoff. + +"Give me the route you are going to take? Shall you be a fixture at St. +Petersburg?" + +"Not immediately," responded the Russian, slowly, his gaze riveted upon +Menko. "In a month I shall still be at Warsaw. At St. Petersburg the +month after." + +"Thanks. I only ask you to let me know, in some way, where you are." + +"Why?" + +"Because, I should like to join you." + +"You!" + +"It is only a fancy," said Menko, with an attempt at a laugh. "I am +bored with life--you know it; I find it a nuisance. If we did not spur +it like an old, musty horse, it would give us the same idiotic round of +days. I do not know--I do not wish to know--why you are going to Russia, +and what this final farewell of which you have just spoken signifies; +I simply guess that you are off on some adventure, and it is possible +that I may ask you to allow me to share it." + +"Why?" said Labanoff, coldly. "You are not a Russian." + +Menko smiled, and, placing his hands upon the thin shoulders of his +friend, he said: + +"Those words reveal many things. It is well that they were not said +before an agent of police." + +"Yes," responded Labanoff, firmly. "But I am not in the habit of +recklessly uttering my thoughts; I know that I am speaking now to Count +Menko." + +"And Count Menko will be delighted, my dear Labanoff, if you will let him +know where, in Poland or Russia, he must go, soon, to obtain news of you. +Fear nothing: neither there nor here will I question you. But I shall be +curious to know what has become of you, and you know that I have enough +friendship for you to be uneasy about you. Besides, I long to be on the +move; Paris, London, the world, in short, bores me, bores me, bores me!" + +"The fact is, it is stupid, egotistical and cowardly," responded +Labanoff. + +He again held out to Menko his nervous hand, burning, like his blue eyes, +with fever. + +"Farewell!" he said. + +"No, no, 'au revoir'!" + +"'Au revoir' be it then. I will let you know what has become of me." + +"And where you are?" + +"And where I am." + +"And do not be astonished if I join you some fine morning." + +"Nothing ever astonishes me," said the Russian. "Nothing!" + +And in that word nothing were expressed profound disgust with life and +fierce contempt of death. + +Menko warmly grasped his friend's thin and emaciated hand; and, the last +farewell spoken to the fanatic departing for some tragical adventure, the +Hungarian became more sombre and troubled than before, and Labanoff's +appearance seemed like a doubtful apparition. He returned to his longing +to see the end of the most anxious day of his life. + +At last, late in the evening, Michel entered his coupe, and was driven +away-down the Rue d'Aumale, through the Rue Pigalle and the Rue de Douai, +to the rondpoint of the Place Clichy, the two lanterns casting their +clear light into the obscurity. The coupe then took the road to Maisons- +Lafitte, crossing the plain and skirting wheat-fields and vineyards, with +the towering silhouette of Mont Valerien on the left, and on the right, +sharply defined against the sky, a long line of hills, dotted with woods +and villas, and with little villages nestling at their base, all plunged +in a mysterious shadow. + +Michel, with absent eyes, gazed at all this, as Trilby rapidly trotted +on. He was thinking of what lay before him, of the folly he was about to +commit, as he had said to Labanoff. It was a folly; and yet, who could +tell? Might not Marsa have reflected? Might she not; alarmed at his +threats, be now awaiting him? Her exquisite face, like a lily, rose +before him; an overwhelming desire to annihilate time and space took +possession of him, and he longed to be standing, key in hand, before the +little gate in the garden wall. + +He was well acquainted with the great park of Maisons-Lafitte, with the +white villas nestling among the trees. On one side Prince Tchereteff's +house looked out upon an almost desert tract of land, on which a +racecourse had been mapped out; and on the other extended with the +stables and servants' quarters to the forest, the wall of the Avenue +Lafitte bounding the garden. In front of the villa was a broad lawn, +ending in a low wall with carved gates, allowing, through the branches of +the oaks and chestnuts, a view of the hills of Cormeilles. + +After crossing the bridge of Sartrouville, Michel ordered his coachman to +drive to the corner of the Avenue Corneille, where he alighted in the +shadow of a clump of trees. + +"You will wait here, Pierre," he said, "and don't stir till I return." + +He walked past the sleeping houses, under the mysterious alleys of the +trees, until he reached the broad avenue which, cutting the park in two, +ran from the station to the forest. The alley that he was seeking +descended between two rows of tall, thick trees, forming an arch +overhead, making it deliciously cool and shady in the daytime, but now +looking like a deep hole, black as a tunnel. Pushing his way through the +trees and bushes, and brushing aside the branches of the acacias, the +leaves of which fell in showers about him, Michel reached an old wall, +the white stones of which were overgrown with ivy. Behind the wall the +wind rustled amid the pines and oaks like the vague murmur of a coming +storm. And there, at the end of the narrow path, half hidden by the ivy, +was the little gate he was seeking. He cautiously brushed aside the +leaves and felt for the keyhole; but, just as he was about to insert the +key, which burned in his feverish fingers, he stopped short. + +Was Marsa awaiting him? Would she not call for help, drive him forth, +treat him like a thief? + +Suppose the gate was barred from within? He looked at the wall, and saw +that by clinging to the ivy he could reach the top. He had not come here +to hesitate. No, a hundred times no! + +Besides, Marsa was certainly there, trembling, fearful, cursing him +perhaps, but still there. + +"No," he murmured aloud in the silence, "were even death behind that +gate, I would not recoil." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +"IT IS A MAN THEY ARE DEVOURING!" + +Michel Menko was right. The beautiful Tzigana was awaiting him. + +She stood at her window, like a spectre in her white dress, her hands +clutching the sill, and her eyes striving to pierce the darkness which +enveloped everything, and opened beneath her like a black gulf. With +heart oppressed with fear, she started at the least sound. + +All she could see below in the garden were the branches defined against +the sky; a single star shining through the leaves of a poplar, like a +diamond in a woman's tresses; and under the window the black stretch of +the lawn crossed by a band of a lighter shade, which was the sand of the +path. The only sound to be heard was the faint tinkle of the water +falling into the fountain. + +Her glance, shifting as her thoughts, wandered vaguely over the trees, +the open spaces which seemed like masses of heavy clouds, and the sky set +with constellations. She listened with distended ears, and a shudder +shook her whole body as she heard suddenly the distant barking of a dog. + +The dog perceived some one. Was it Menko? + +No: the sound, a howling rather than a barking, came from a long +distance, from Sartrouville, beyond the Seine. + +"It is not Duna or Bundas," she murmured, "nor Ortog. What folly to +remain here at the window! Menko will not come. Heaven grant that he +does not come!" + +And she sighed a happy sigh as if relieved of a terrible weight. + +Suddenly, with a quick movement, she started violently back, as if some +frightful apparition had risen up before her. + +Hoarse bayings, quite different from the distant barking of a moment +before, rent the air, and were repeated more and more violently below +there in the darkness. This time it was indeed the great Danish hounds +and the shaggy colossus of the Himalayas, which were precipitating +themselves upon some prey. + +"Great God! He is there, then! He is there!" whispered Marsa, paralyzed +with horror. + +There was something gruesome in the cries of the dogs, By the continued +repetition of the savage noises, sharp, irritated, frightful snarls and +yelps, Marsa divined some horrible struggle in the darkness, of a man +against the beasts. Then all her terror seemed to mount to her lips in a +cry of pity, which was instantly repressed. She steadied herself against +the window, striving, with all her strength, to reason herself into +calmness. + +"It was his own wish," she thought. + +Did she not know, then, what she was doing when, wishing to place a +living guard between herself and danger, she had descended to the kennel +and unloosed the ferocious animals, which, recognizing her voice, had +bounded about her and licked her hands with many manifestations of joy? +She had ascended again to her chamber and extinguished the light, around +which fluttered the moths, beating the opal shade with their downy wings; +and, in the darkness, drinking in the nightair at the open window, she +had waited, saying to herself that Michel Menko would not come; but, if +he did come, it was the will of fate that he should fall a victim to the +devoted dogs which guarded her. + +Why should she pity him? + +She hated him, this Michel. He had threatened her, and she had defended +herself, that was all. Ortog's teeth were made for thieves and +intruders. No pity! No, no--no pity for such a coward, since he had +dared-- + +But yet, as the ferocious bayings of the dogs below became redoubled in +their fury, she imagined, in terror, a crunching of bones and a tearing +of flesh; and, as her imagination conjured up before her Michel fighting, +in hideous agony, against the bites of the dogs, she shuddered; she was +afraid, and again a stifled cry burst forth from her lips. A sort of +insanity took possession of her. She tried to cry out for mercy as if +the animals could hear her; she sought the door of her chamber, groping +along the wall with her hands outspread before her, in order to descend +the staircase and rush out into the garden; but her limbs gave way +beneath her, and she sank an inert mass upon the carpet in an agony of +fear and horror. + +"My God! My God! It is a man they are devouring;" and her voice died +away in a smothered call for help. + +Then she suddenly raised her head, as if moved by an electric shock. + +There was no more noise! Nothing! The black night had all at once +returned to its great, mysterious silence. Marsa experienced a sensation +of seeing a pall stretched over a dead body. And in the darkness there +seemed to float large spots of blood. + +"Ah! the unhappy man!" she faltered. + +Then, again, the voices of the dogs broke forth, rapid, angry, still +frightfully threatening. The animals appeared now to be running, and +their bayings became more and more distant. + +What had happened? + +One would have said that they were dragging away their prey, tearing it +with hideous crimson fangs. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +MARSA'S GUARDIANS. + +Was Michel Menko indeed dead? We left him just as he was turning the key +in the little gate in the wall. He walked in boldly, and followed a path +leading to an open space where was the pavilion he had spoken of to +Marsa. He looked to see whether the windows of the pavilion were +lighted, or whether there were a line of light under the door. No: the +delicate tracery of the pagoda-like structure showed dimly against the +sky; but there was no sign of life. Perhaps, however, Marsa was there in +the darkness. + +He would glide under the window and call. Then, hearing him and +frightened at so much audacity, she would descend. + +He advanced a few steps toward the pavilion; but, all at once, in the +part of the garden which seemed lightest, upon the broad gravel walk, +he perceived odd, creeping shadows, which the moon, emerging from a +cloud, showed to be dogs, enormous dogs, with their ears erect, which, +with abound and a low, deep growl, made a dash toward him with outspread +limbs--a dash terrible as the leap of a tiger. + +A quick thought illumined Michel's brain like a flash of electricity: +"Ah! this is Marsa's answer!" He had just time to mutter, with raging +irony: + +"I was right, she was waiting for me!" + +Then, before the onslaught of the dogs, he recoiled, clasping his hands +upon his breast and boldly thrusting out his elbows to ward off their +ferocious attacks. With a sudden tightening of the muscles he repulsed +the Danish hounds, which rolled over writhing on the ground, and then, +with formidable baying, returned more furiously still to the charge. + +Michel Menko had no weapon. + +With a knife he could have defended himself, and slit the bellies of the +maddened animals; but he had nothing! Was he to be forced, then, to fly, +pursued like a fox or a deer? + +Suppose the servants, roused by the noise of the dogs, should come in +their turn, and seize him as a thief? At all events, that would be +comparative safety; at least, they would rescue him from these monsters. +But no: nothing stirred in the silent, impassive house. + +The hounds, erect upon their hind legs, rushed again at Michel, who, +overturning them with blows from his feet, and striking them violently in +the jaws, now staggered back, Ortog having leaped at his throat. By a +rapid movement of recoil, the young man managed to avoid being strangled; +but the terrible teeth of the dog, tearing his coat and shirt into +shreds, buried themselves deep in the flesh of his shoulder. + +The steel-like muscles and sinewy strength of the Hungarian now stood him +in good stead. He must either free himself, or perish there in the +hideous carnage of a quarry. He seized with both hands, in a viselike +grip, Ortog's enormous neck, and, at the same time, with a desperate +jerk, shook free his shoulder, leaving strips of his flesh between the +jaws of the animal, whose hot, reeking breath struck him full in the +face. With wild, staring eyes, and summoning up, in an instinct of +despair, all his strength and courage, he buried his fingers in Ortog's +neck, and drove his nails through the skin of the colossus, which struck +and beat with his paws against the young man's breast. The dog's tongue +hung out of his mouth, under the suffocating pressure of the hands of the +human being struggling for his life. As he fought thus against Ortog, +the Hungarian gradually retreated, the two hounds leaping about him, now +driven off by kicks (Duna's jaw was broken), and now, with roars of rage +and fiery eyes, again attacking their human prey. + +One of them, Bundas, his teeth buried in Michel's left thigh, shook him, +trying to throw him to the ground. A slip, and all would be over; if he +should fall upon the gravel, the man would be torn to pieces and crunched +like a deer caught by the hounds. + +A terrible pain nearly made Michel faint--Bundas had let go his hold, +stripping off a long tongue of flesh; but, in a moment, it had the same +effect upon him as that of the knife of a surgeon opening a vein, and the +weakness passed away. The unfortunate man still clutched, as in a death- +grip, Ortog's shaggy neck, and he perceived that the struggles of the dog +were no longer of the same terrible violence; the eyes of the ferocious +brute were rolled back in his head until they looked like two large balls +of gleaming ivory. Michel threw the heavy mass furiously from him, and +the dog, suffocated, almost dead, fell upon the ground with a dull, heavy +sound. + +Menko had now to deal only with the Danish hounds, which were rendered +more furious than ever by the smell of blood. One of them, displaying +his broken teeth in a hideous, snarling grin, hesitated a little to renew +the onslaught, ready, as he was, to spring at his enemy's throat at the +first false step; but the other, Bundas, with open mouth, still sprang at +Michel, who repelled, with his left arm, the attacks of the bloody jaws. +Suddenly a hollow cry burst from his lips like a death-rattle, forced +from him as the dog buried his fangs in his forearm, until they nearly +met. It seemed to him that the end had now come. + +Each second took away more and more of his strength. The tremendous +tension of muscles and nerves, which had been necessary in the battle +with Ortog, and the blood he had lost, his whole left side being gashed +as with cuts from a knife, weakened him. He calculated, that, unless he +could reach the little gate before the other dog should make up his mind +to leap upon him, he was lost, irredeemably lost. + +Bundas did not let go his hold, but twisting himself around Michel's +body, he clung with his teeth to the young man's lacerated arm; the +other, Duna, bayed horribly, ready to spring at any moment. + +Michel gathered together all the strength that remained to him, and ran +rapidly backward, carrying with him the furious beast, which was crushing +the very bones of his arm. + +He reached the end of the walk, and the gate was there before him. +Groping in the darkness with his free hand, he found the key, turned it, +and the gate flew open. Fate evidently did not wish him to perish. + +Then, in the same way as he had shaken off Ortog, whom he could now hear +growling and stumbling over the gravel a little way off, Michel freed his +arm from Bundas, forcing his fingers and nails into the animal's ears; +and the moment he had thrown the brute to the ground, he dashed through +the gate, and slammed it to behind him, just as the two dogs together +were preparing to leap again upon him. + +Then, leaning against the gate, and steadying himself, so as not to fall, +he stood there weak and faint, while the dogs, on the other side of the +wooden partition which now separated him from death--and what a death! +erect upon their hind legs, like rampant, heraldic animals, tried to +break through, cracking, in their gory jaws, long strips of wood torn +from the barrier which kept them from their human prey. + +Michel never knew how long he remained there, listening to the hideous +growling of his bloodthirsty enemies. At last the thought came to him +that he must go; but how was he to drag himself to the place where Pierre +was waiting for him? It was so far! so far! He would faint twenty +times before reaching there. Was he about to fail now after all he had +gone through? + +His left leg was frightfully painful; but he thought he could manage to +walk with it. His left shoulder and arm, however, at the least movement, +caused him atrocious agony, as if the bones had been crushed by the wheel +of some machine. He sought for his handkerchief, and enveloped his +bleeding arm in it, tying the ends of it with his teeth. Then he +tottered to a woodpile near by, and, taking one of the long sticks, he +managed with its aid to drag himself along the alley, while through the +branches the moon looked calmly down upon him. + +He was worn out, and his head seemed swimming in a vast void, when he +reached the end of the alley, and saw, a short way off down the avenue, +the arch of the old bridge near which the coupe had stopped. One effort +more, a few steps, and he was there! He was afraid now of falling +unconscious, and remaining there in a dying condition, without his +coachman even suspecting that he was so near him. + +"Courage!" he murmured. "On! On!" + +Two clear red lights appeared-the lanterns of the coup. "Pierre!" cried +Michel in the darkness, "Pierre!" But he felt that his feeble voice +would not reach the coachman, who was doubtless asleep on his box. Once +more he gathered together his strength, called again, and advanced a +little, saying to himself that a step or two more perhaps meant safety. +Then, all at once, he fell prostrate upon his side, unable to proceed +farther; and his voice, weaker and weaker, gradually failed him. + +Fortunately, the coachman had heard him cry, and realized that something +had happened. He jumped from his box, ran to his master, lifted him up, +and carried him to the carriage. As the light of the lamps fell on the +torn and bloody garments of the Count, whose pallid and haggard face was +that of a dead man, Pierre uttered a cry of fright. + +"Great heavens! Where have you been?" he exclaimed. "You have been +attacked?" + +"The coup--place me in the coup." + +"But there are doctors here. I will go--" + +"No--do nothing. Make no noise. Take me to Paris--I do not wish any one +to know--To Paris--at once," and he lost consciousness. + +Pierre, with some brandy he luckily had with him, bathed his master's +temples, and forced a few drops between his lips; and, when the Count had +recovered, he whipped up his horse and galloped to Paris, growling, with +a shrug of the shoulders: + +"There must have been a woman in this. Curse the women! They make all +the trouble in the world." + +It was daybreak when the coup reached Paris. + +Pierre heard, as they passed the barrier, a laborer say to his mate + +"That's a fine turnout. I wish I was in the place of the one who is +riding inside!" + +"So do I!" returned the other. + +And Pierre thought, philosophically: "Poor fools! If they only knew!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +"THERE IS NO NEED OF ACCUSING ANYONE." + +At the first streak of daylight, Marsa descended, trembling, to the +garden, and approached the little gate, wondering what horror would meet +her eyes. + +Rose-colored clouds, like delicate, silky flakes of wool, floated across +the blue sky; the paling crescent of the moon, resembling a bent thread +of silver wire, seemed about to fade mistily away; and, toward the east, +in the splendor of the rising sun, the branches of the trees stood out +against a background of burnished gold as in a Byzantine painting. The +dewy calm and freshness of the early morning enveloped everything as in a +bath of purity and youth. + +But Marsa shuddered as she thought that perhaps this beautiful day was +dawning upon a dead body. She stopped abruptly as she saw the gardener, +with very pale face, come running toward her. + +"Ah, Mademoiselle, something terrible has happened! Last night the dogs +barked and barked; but they bark so often at the moon and the shadows, +that no one got up to see what was the matter." + +"Well--well?" gasped Marsa, her hand involuntarily seeking her heart. + +"Well, there was a thief here last night, or several of them, for poor +Ortog is half strangled; but the rascals did not get away scot free. +The one who came through the little path to the pavilion was badly +bitten; his tracks can be followed in blood for a long distance a very +long distance." + +"Then," asked Marsa, quickly, "he escaped? He is not dead?" + +"No, certainly not. He got away." + +"Ah! Thank heaven for that!" cried the Tzigana, her mind relieved of a +heavy weight. + +"Mademoiselle is too good," said the gardener. "When a man enters, like +that, another person's place, he exposes himself to be chased like a +rabbit, or to be made mincemeat of for the dogs. He must have had big +muscles to choke Ortog, the poor beast!--not to mention that Duna's teeth +are broken. But the scoundrel got his share, too; for he left big +splashes of blood upon the gravel." + +"Blood!" + +"The most curious thing is that the little gate, to which there is no +key, is unlocked. They came in and went out there. If that idiot of a +Saboureau, whom General Vogotzine discharged--and rightly too, +Mademoiselle--were not dead, I should say that he was at the bottom +of all this." + +"There is no need of accusing anyone," said Marsa, turning away. + +The gardener returned to the neighborhood of the pavilion, and, examining +the red stains upon the ground, he said: "All the same, this did not +happen by itself. I am going to inform the police!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +"A BEAUTIFUL DREAM" + +It was the eve of the marriage-day of Prince Andras Zilah and +Mademoiselle Marsa Laszlo, and Marsa sat alone in her chamber, where +the white robes she was to wear next day were spread out on the bed; +alone for the last time--to-morrow she would be another's. + +The fiery Tzigana, who felt in her heart, implacable as it was to evil +and falsehood, all capabilities of devotion and truth, was condemned to +lie, or to lose the love of Prince Andras, which was her very life. +There was no other alternative. No, no: since she had met this man, +superior to all others, since he loved her and she loved him, she would +take an hour of his life and pay for that hour with her own. She had no +doubt but that an avowal would forever ruin her in Andras's eyes. No, +again and forever no: it was much better to take the love which fate +offered her in exchange for her life. + +And, as she threw herself back in her chair with an expression of +unchangeable determination in her dark, gazelle-like eyes, there suddenly +came into her mind the memory of a day long ago, when, driving along the +road from Maisons-Lafitte to Saint-Germain, she had met some wandering +gipsies, two men and a woman, with copper-colored skins and black eyes, +in which burned, like a live coal, the passionate melancholy of the race. +The woman, a sort of long spear in her hand, was driving some little +shaggy ponies, like those which range about the plains of Hungary. +Bound like parcels upon the backs of these ponies were four or five +little children, clothed in rags, and covered with the dust of the road. +The woman, tall, dark and faded, a sort of turban upon her head, held out +her hand toward Marsa's carriage with a graceful gesture and a broad +smile--the supplicating smile of those who beg. A muscular young fellow, +his crisp hair covered with a red fez, her brother--the woman was old, or +perhaps she was less so than she seemed, for poverty brings wrinkles-- +walked by her side behind the sturdy little ponies. Farther along, +another man waited for them at a corner of the road near a laundry, +the employees of which regarded him with alarm, because, at the end of a +rope, the gipsy held a small gray bear. As she passed by them, Marsa +involuntarily exclaimed, in the language of her mother "Be szomoru!" +(How sad it is!) The man, at her words, raised his head, and a flash of +joy passed over his face, which showed, or Marsa thought so (who knows? +perhaps she was mistaken), a love for his forsaken country. Well, now, +she did not know why, the remembrance of these poor beings returned to +her, and she said to herself that her ancestors, humble and insignificant +as these unfortunates in the dust and dirt of the highway, would have +been astonished and incredulous if any one had told them that some day a +girl born of their blood would wed a Zilah, one of the chiefs of that +Hungary whose obscure and unknown minstrels they were! Ah! what an +impossible dream it seemed, and yet it was realized now. + +At all events, a man's death did not lie between her and Zilah. Michel +Menko, after lying at death's door, was cured of his wounds. She knew +this from Baroness Dinati, who attributed Michel's illness to a sword +wound secretly received for some woman. This was the rumor in Paris. +The young Count had, in fact, closed his doors to every one; and no one +but his physician had been admitted. What woman could it be? The little +Baroness could not imagine. + +Marsa thought again, with a shudder, of the night when the dogs howled; +but, to tell the truth, she had no remorse. She had simply defended +herself! The inquiry begun by the police had ended in no definite +result. At Maisons-Lafitte, people thought that the Russian house had +been attacked by some thieves who had been in the habit of entering +unoccupied houses and rifling them of their contents. They had even +arrested an old vagabond, and accused him of the attempted robbery at +General Vogotzine's; but the old man had answered: "I do not even know +the house." But was not this Menko a hundred times more culpable than a +thief? It was more and worse than money or silver that he had dared to +come for: it was to impose his love upon a woman whose heart he had well- +nigh broken. Against such an attack all weapons were allowable, even +Ortog's teeth. The dogs of the Tzigana had known how to defend her; and +it was what she had expected from her comrades. + +Had Michel Menko died, Marsa would have said, with the fatalism of the +Orient: "It was his own will!" She was grateful, however, to fate, for +having punished the wretch by letting him live. Then she thought no more +of him except to execrate him for having poisoned her happiness, and +condemned her either to a silence as culpable as a lie, or to an avowal +as cruel as a suicide. + +The night passed and the day came at last, when it was necessary for +Marsa to become the wife of Prince Andras, or to confess to him her +guilt. She wished that she had told him all, now that she had not the +courage to do so. She had accustomed herself to the idea that a woman is +not necessarily condemned to love no more because she has encountered a +coward who has abused her love. She was in an atmosphere of illusion and +chimera; what was passing about her did not even seem to exist. Her +maids dressed her, and placed upon her dark hair the bridal veil: she +half closed her eyes and murmured: + +"It is a beautiful dream." + +A dream, and yet a reality, consoling as a ray of light after a hideous +nightmare. Those things which were false, impossible, a lie, +a phantasmagoria born of a fever, were Michel Menko, the past years, +the kisses of long ago, the threats of yesterday, the bayings of the +infuriated dogs at that shadow which did not exist. + +General Vogotzine, in a handsome uniform, half suffocated in his high +vest, and with a row of crosses upon his breast--the military cross of +St. George, with its red and black ribbon; the cross of St. Anne, with +its red ribbon; all possible crosses--was the first to knock at his +niece's door, his sabre trailing upon the floor. + +"Who is it?" said Marsa. + +"I, Vogotzine." + +And, permission being given him, he entered the room. + +The old soldier walked about his niece, pulling his moustache, as if he +were conducting an inspection. He found Marsa charming. Pale as her +white robe, with Tizsa's opal agraffe at her side, ready to clasp the +bouquet of flowers held by one of her maids, she had never been so +exquisitely beautiful; and Vogotzine, who was rather a poor hand at +turning a compliment, compared her to a marble statue. + +"How gallant you are this morning, General," she said, her heart bursting +with emotion. + +She waved away, with a brusque gesture, the orange-flowers which her maid +was about to attach to her corsage. + +"No," she said. "Not that! Roses." + +"But, Mademoiselle " + +"Roses," repeated Marsa. "And for my hair white rosebuds also." + +At this, the old General risked another speech. + +"Do you think orange-blossoms are too vulgar, Marsa? By Jove! They +don't grow in the ditches, though!" + +And he laughed loudly at what he considered wit. But a frowning glance +from the Tzigana cut short his hilarity; and, with a mechanical movement, +he drew himself up in a military manner, as if the Czar were passing by. + +"I will leave you to finish dressing, my dear," he said, after a moment. + +He already felt stifled in the uniform, which he was no longer accustomed +to wear, and he went out in the garden to breathe freer. While waiting +there for Zilah, he ordered some cherry cordial, muttering, as he drank +it: + +"It is beautiful August weather. They will have a fine day; but I shall +suffocate!" + +The avenue was already filled with people. The marriage had been much +discussed, both in the fashionable colony which inhabited the park and in +the village forming the democratic part of the place; even from +Sartrouville and Mesnil, people had come to see the Tzigana pass in her +bridal robes. + +"What is all that noise?" demanded Vogotzine of the liveried footman. + +"That noise, General? The inhabitants of Maisons who have come to see +the wedding procession." + +"Really? Ah! really? Well, they haven't bad taste. They will see a +pretty woman and a handsome uniform." And the General swelled out his +breast as he used to do in the great parades of the time of Nicholas, and +the reviews in the camp of Tsarskoe-Selo. + +Outside the garden, behind the chestnut-trees which hid the avenue, there +was a sudden sound of the rolling of wheels, and the gay cracking of +whips. + +"Ah!" cried the General, "It is Zilah!" + +And, rapidly swallowing a last glass of the cordial, he wiped his +moustache, and advanced to meet Prince Andras, who was descending from +his carriage. + +Accompanying the Prince were Yanski Varhely, and an Italian friend of +Zilah's, Angelo Valla, a former minister of the Republic of Venice, in +the time of Manin. Andras Zilah, proud and happy, appeared to have +hardly passed his thirtieth year; a ray of youth animated his clear eyes. +He leaped lightly out upon the gravel, which cracked joyously beneath his +feet; and, as he advanced through the aromatic garden, to the villa where +Marsa awaited him, he said to himself that no man in the world was +happier than he. + +Vogotzine met him, and, after shaking his hand, asked him why on earth he +had not put on his national Magyar costume, which the Hungarians wore +with such graceful carelessness. + +"Look at me, my dear Prince! I am in full battle array!" + +Andras was in haste to see Marsa. He smiled politely at the General's +remark, and asked him where his niece was. + +"She is putting on her uniform," replied Vogotzine, with a loud laugh +which made his sabre rattle. + +Most of the invited guests were to go directly to the church of Maisons. +Only the intimate friends came first to the house, Baroness Dinati, +first of all, accompanied by Paul Jacquemin, who took his eternal notes, +complimenting both Andras and the General, the latter especially eager to +detain as many as possible to the lunch after the ceremony. Vogotzine, +doubtless, wished to show himself in all the eclat of his majestic +appetite. + +Very pretty, in her Louis Seize gown of pink brocade, and a Rembrandt hat +with a long white feather (Jacquemin, who remained below, had already +written down the description in his note-book), the little Baroness +entered Marsa's room like a whirlwind, embracing the young girl, and +going into ecstasy over her beauty. + +"Ah! how charming you are, my dear child! You are the ideal of a bride! +You ought to be painted as you are! And what good taste to wear roses, +and not orange-flowers, which are so common, and only good for shopgirls. +Turn around! You are simply exquisite." + +Marsa, paler than her garments, looked at herself in the glass, happy in +the knowledge of her beauty, since she was about to be his, and yet +contemplating the tall, white figure as if it were not her own image. + +She had often felt this impression of a twofold being, in those dreams +where one seems to be viewing the life of another, or to be the +disinterested spectator of one's own existence. + +It seemed to her that it was not she who was to be married, or that +suddenly the awakening would come. + +"The Prince is below," said the Baroness Dinati. + +"Ah!" said Marsa. + +She started with a sort of involuntary terror, as this very name of +Prince was at once that of a husband and that of a judge. But when, +superb in the white draperies, which surrounded her like a cloud of +purity, her long train trailing behind her, she descended the stairs, +her little feet peeping in and out like two white doves, and appeared at +the door of the little salon where Andras was waiting, she felt herself +enveloped in an atmosphere of love. The Prince advanced to meet her, his +face luminous with happiness; and, taking the young girl's hands, he +kissed the long lashes which rested upon her cheek, saying, as he +contemplated the white vision of beauty before him: + +"How lovely you are, my Marsa! And how I love you!" + +The Prince spoke these words in a tone, and with a look, which touched +the deepest depths of Marsa's heart. + +Then they exchanged those words, full of emotion, which, in their eternal +triteness, are like music in the ears of those who love. Every one had +withdrawn to the garden, to leave them alone in this last, furtive, happy +minute, which is never found again, and which, on the threshold of the +unknown, possesses a joy, sad as a last farewell, yet full of hope as the +rising of the sun. + +He told her how ardently he loved her, and how grateful he was to her for +having consented, in her youth and beauty, to become the wife of a quasi- +exile, who still kept, despite his efforts, something of the melancholy +of the past. + +And she, with an outburst of gratitude, devotion, and love, in which all +the passion of her nature and her race vibrated, said, in a voice which +trembled with unshed tears: + +"Do not say that I give you my life. It is you who make of a girl of the +steppes a proud and honored wife, who asks herself why all this happiness +has come to her." Then, nestling close to Andras, and resting her dark +head upon his shoulder, she continued: "We have a proverb, you remember, +which says, Life is a tempest. I have repeated it very often with bitter +sadness. But now, that wicked proverb is effaced by the refrain of our +old song, Life is a chalet of pearls." + +And the Tzigana, lost in the dream which was now a tangible reality, +saying nothing, but gazing with her beautiful eyes, now moist, into the +face of Andras, remained encircled in his arms, while he smiled and +whispered, again and again, "I love you!" + +All the rest of the world had ceased to exist for these two beings, +absorbed in each other. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +THE BRIDAL DAY + +The little Baroness ran into the room, laughing, and telling them how +late it was; and Andras and Marsa, awakened to reality, followed her to +the hall, where Varhely, Vogotzine, Angelo Valla, Paul Jacquemin and +other guests were assembled as a sort of guard of honor to the bride and +groom. + +Andras and the Baroness, with Varhely, immediately entered the Prince's +carriage; Vogotzine taking his place in the coupe with Marsa. Then there +was a gay crackling of the gravel, a flash of wheels in the sunlight, a +rapid, joyous departure. Clustered beneath the trees in the ordinarily +quiet avenues of Maisons, the crowd watched the cortege; and old +Vogotzine good-humoredly displayed his epaulettes and crosses for the +admiration of the people who love uniforms. + +As she descended from the carriage, Marsa cast a superstitious glance at +the facade of the church, a humble facade, with a Gothic porch and cheap +stained-glass windows, some of which were broken; and above a plaster +tower covered with ivy and surmounted with a roughly carved cross. She +entered the church almost trembling, thinking again how strange was this +fate which united, before a village altar, a Tzigana and a Magyar. She +walked up the aisle, seeing nothing, but hearing about her murmurs of +admiration, and knelt down beside Andras, upon a velvet cushion, near +which burned a tall candle, in a white candlestick. + +The little church, dimly lighted save where the priest stood, was hushed +to silence, and Marsa felt penetrated with deep emotion. She had really +drunk of the cup of oblivion; she was another woman, or rather a young +girl, with all a young girl's purity and ignorance of evil. It seemed to +her that the hated past was a bad dream; one of those unhealthy +hallucinations which fly away at the dawn of day. + +She saw, in the luminous enclosure of the altar, the priest in his white +stole, and the choir boys in their snowy surplices. The waxen candles +looked like stars against the white hangings of the chancel; and above +the altar, a sweet-faced Madonna looked down with sad eyes upon the man +and woman kneeling before her. Through the parti-colored windows, +crossed with broad bands of red, the branches of the lindens swayed in +the wind, and the fluttering tendrils of the ivy cast strange, flickering +shadows of blue, violet, and almost sinister scarlet upon the guests +seated in the nave. + +Outside, in the square in front of the church, the crowd waited the end +of the ceremony. Shopgirls from the Rue de l'Eglise, and laundresses +from the Rue de Paris, curiously contemplated the equipages, with their +stamping horses, and the coachmen, erect upon their boxes, motionless, +and looking neither to the right nor the left. Through the open door of +the church, at the end of the old oak arches, could be seen Marsa's +white, kneeling figure, and beside her Prince Zilah, whose blond head, as +he stood gazing down upon his bride, towered above the rest of the party. + +The music of the organ, now tremulous and low, now strong and deep, +caused a profound silence to fall upon the square; but, as the last note +died away, there was a great scrambling for places to see the procession +come out. + +Above the mass of heads, the leaves of the old lindens rustled with a +murmur which recalled that of the sea; and now and then a blossom of a +yellowish white would flutter down, which the girls disputed, holding up +their hands and saying: + +"The one who catches it will have a husband before the year is out!" + +A poor old blind man, cowering upon the steps of the sanctuary, was +murmuring a monotonous prayer, like the plaint of a night bird. + +Yanski Varhely regarded the scene with curiosity, as he waited for the +end of the ceremony. Somewhat oppressed by the heavy atmosphere of the +little church, and being a Huguenot besides, the old soldier had come out +into the open air, and bared his head to the fresh breeze under the +lindens. + +His rugged figure had at first a little awed the crowd; but they soon +began to rattle on again like a brook over the stones. + +Varhely cast, from time to time, a glance into the interior of the +church. Baroness Dinati was now taking up the collection for the poor, +holding the long pole of the alms-box in her little, dimpled hands, and +bowing with a pretty smile as the coins rattled into the receptacle. + +Varhely, after a casual examination of the ruins of an old castle which +formed one side of the square, was about to return to the church, when a +domestic in livery pushed his way through the crowd, and raising himself +upon his toes, peered into the church as if seeking some one. After a +moment the man approached Yanski, and, taking off his hat, asked, +respectfully: + +"Is it to Monsieur Varhely that I have the honor to speak?" + +"Yes," replied Yanski, a little surprised. + +"I have a package for Prince Andras Zilah: would Monsieur have the +kindness to take charge of it, and give it to the Prince? I beg +Monsieur's pardon; but it is very important, and I am obliged to go +away at once. I should have brought it to Maisons yesterday." + +As he spoke, the servant drew from an inside pocket a little package +carefully wrapped, and sealed with red sealing-wax. + +"Monsieur will excuse me," he said again, "but it is very important." + +"What is it?" asked Varhely, rather brusquely. "Who sent it?" + +"Count Michel Menko." + +Varhely knew very well (as also did Andras), that Michel had been +seriously ill; otherwise, he would have been astonished at the young +man's absence from the wedding of the Prince. + +He thought Michel had probably sent a wedding present, and he took the +little package, twisting it mechanically in his hands. As he did so, he +gave a slight start of surprise; it seemed as if the package contained +letters. + +He looked at the superscription. The name of Prince Andras Zilah was +traced in clear, firm handwriting, and, in the left-hand corner, Michel +Menko had written, in Hungarian characters: "Very important! With the +expression of my excuses and my sorrow." And below, the signature "Menko +Mihaly." + +The domestic was still standing there, hat in hand. "Monsieur will be +good enough to pardon me," he said; "but, in the midst of this crowd, I +could not perhaps reach his Excellency, and the Count's commands were so +imperative that--" + +"Very well," interrupted Varhely. "I will myself give this to the Prince +immediately." + +The domestic bowed, uttered his thanks, and left Varhely vaguely uneasy +at this mysterious package which had been brought there, and which Menko +had addressed to the Prince. + +With the expression of his excuses and his sorrow! Michel doubtless +meant that he was sorry not to be able to join Andras's friends--he who +was one of the most intimate of them, and whom the Prince called "my +child." Yes, it was evidently that. But why this sealed package? and +what did it contain? Yanski turned it over and over between his fingers, +which itched to break the wrapper, and find out what was within. + +He wondered if there were really any necessity to give it to the Prince. +But why should he not? What folly to think that any disagreeable news +could come from Michel Menko! The young man, unable to come himself to +Maisons, had sent his congratulations to the Prince, and Zilah would be +glad to receive them from his friend. That was all. There was no +possible trouble in all this, but only one pleasure the more to Andras. + +And Varhely could not help smiling at the nervous feeling a letter +received under odd circumstances or an unexpected despatch sometimes +causes. The envelope alone, of some letters, sends a magnetic thrill +through one and makes one tremble. The rough soldier was not accustomed +to such weaknesses, and he blamed himself as being childish, for having +felt that instinctive fear which was now dissipated. + +He shrugged his shoulders, and turned toward the church. + +From the interior came the sound of the organ, mingled with the murmur of +the guests as they rose, ready to depart. The wedding march from the +Midsummer Night's Dream pealed forth majestically as the newly-married +pair walked slowly down the aisle. Marsa smiled happily at this music of +Mendelssohn, which she had played so often, and which was now singing for +her the chant of happy love. She saw the sunshine streaming through the +open doorway, and, dazzled by this light from without, her eyes fixed +upon the luminous portal, she no longer perceived the dim shadows of the +church. + +Murmurs of admiration greeted her as she appeared upon the threshold, +beaming with happiness. The crowd, which made way for her, gazed upon +her with fascinated eyes. The door of Andras's carriage was open; Marsa +entered it, and Andras, with a smile of deep, profound content, seated +himself beside her, whispering tenderly in the Tzigana's ear as the +carriage drove off: + +"Ah! how I love you! my beloved, my adored Marsa! How I love you, and +how happy I am!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +"THE TZIGANA IS THE MOST LOVED OF ALL!" + +The chimes rang forth a merry peal, and Mendelssohn's music still +thundered its triumphal accents, as the marriage guests left the church. + +"It is a beautiful wedding, really a great success! The bride, the +decorations, the good peasants and the pretty girls--everything is simply +perfect. If I ever marry again," laughed the Baroness, "I shall be +married in the country." + +"You have only to name the day, Baroness," said old Vogotzine, inspired +to a little gallantry. + +And Jacquemin, with a smile, exclaimed, in Russian: + +"What a charming speech, General, and so original! I will make a note of +it." + +The carriages rolled away toward Marsa's house through the broad avenues, +turning rapidly around the fountains of the park, whose jets of water +laughed as they fell and threw showers of spray over the masses of +flowers. Before the church, the children disputed for the money and +bonbons Prince Andras had ordered to be distributed. In Marsa's large +drawing-rooms, where glass and silver sparkled upon the snowy cloth, +servants in livery awaited the return of the wedding-party. In a moment +there was an assault, General Vogotzine leading the column. All +appetites were excited by the drive in the fresh air, and the guests did +honor to the pates, salads, and cold chicken, accompanied by Leoville, +which Jacquemin tasted and pronounced drinkable. + +The little Baroness was ubiquitous, laughing, chattering, enjoying +herself to her heart's content, and telling every one that she was to +leave that very evening for Trouviile, with trunks, and trunks, and +trunks--a host of them! But then, it was race-week, you know! + +With her eyeglasses perched upon her little nose, she stopped before a +statuette, a picture, no matter what, exclaiming, merrily: + +"Oh, how pretty that is! How pretty it is! It is a Tanagra! How queer +those Tanagras are. They prove that love existed in antiquity, don't +they, Varhely? Oh! I forgot; what do you know about love?" + +At last, with a glass of champagne in her hand, she paused before a +portrait of Marsa, a strange, powerful picture, the work of an artist +who knew how to put soul into his painting. + +"Ah! this is superb! Who painted it, Marsa?" + +"Zichy," replied Marsa. + +"Ah, yes, Zichy! I am no longer astonished. By the way, there is +another Hungarian artist who paints very well. I have heard of him. +He is an old man; I don't exactly remember his name, something like +Barabas." + +"Nicolas de Baratras," said Varhely. + +"Yes, that's it. It seems he is a master. But your Zichy pleases me +infinitely. He has caught your eyes and expression wonderfully; it is +exactly like you, Princess. I should like to have my portrait painted by +him. His first name is Michel, is it not?" + +She examined the signature, peering through her eyeglass, close to the +canvas. + +"Yes, I knew it was. Michel Zichy!" + +This name of "Michel!" suddenly pronounced, sped like an arrow through +Marsa's heart. She closed her eyes as if to shut out some hateful +vision, and abruptly quitted the Baroness, who proceeded to analyze +Zichy's portrait as she did the pictures in the salon on varnishing day. +Marsa went toward other friends, answering their flatteries with smiles, +and forcing herself to talk and forget. + +Andras, in the midst of the crowd where Vogotzine's loud laugh alternated +with the little cries of the Baroness, felt a complex sentiment: he +wished his friends to enjoy themselves and yet he longed to be alone with +Marsa, and to take her away. They were to go first to his hotel in +Paris; and then to some obscure corner, probably to the villa of Sainte- +Adresse, until September, when they were going to Venice, and from there +to Rome for the winter. + +It seemed to the Prince that all these people were taking away from him a +part of his life. Marsa belonged to them, as she went from one to +another, replying to the compliments which desperately resembled one +another, from those of Angelo Valla, which were spoken in Italian, +to those of little Yamada, the Parisianized Japanese. Andras now longed +for the solitude of the preceding days; and Baroness Dinati, shaking her +finger at him, said: "My dear Prince, you are longing to see us go, +I know you are. Oh! don't say you are not! I am sure of it, and I can +understand it. We had no lunch at my marriage. The Baron simply carried +me off at the door of the church. Carried me off! How romantic that +sounds! It suggests an elopement with a coach and four! Have no fear, +though; leave it to me, I will disperse your guests!" + +She flew away before Zilah could answer; and, murmuring a word in the +ears of her friends, tapping with her little hand upon the shoulders of +the obstinate, she gradually cleared the rooms, and the sound of the +departing carriages was soon heard, as they rolled down the avenue. + +Andras and Marsa were left almost alone; Varhely still remaining, and the +little Baroness, who ran up, all rosy and out of breath, to the Prince, +and said, gayly, in her laughing voice: + +"Well! What do you say to that? all vanished like smoke, even +Jacquemin, who has gone back by train. The game of descampativos, +which Marie Antoinette loved to play at Trianon, must have been a little +like this. Aren't you going to thank me? Ah! you ingrate!" + +She ran and embraced Marsa, pressing her cherry lips to the Tzigana's +pale face, and then rapidly disappeared in a mock flight, with a gay +little laugh and a tremendous rustle of petticoats. + +Of all his friends, Varhely was the one of whom Andras was fondest; +but they had not been able to exchange a single word since the morning. +Yanski had been right to remain till the last: it was his hand which the +Prince wished to press before his departure, as if Varhely had been his +relative, and the sole surviving one. + +"Now," he said to him, "you have no longer only a brother, my dear +Varhely; you have also a sister who loves and respects you as I love +and respect you myself." + +Yanski's stern face worked convulsively with an emotion he tried to +conceal beneath an apparent roughness. + +"You are right to love me a little," he said, brusquely, "because I am +very fond of you--of both of you," nodding his head toward Marsa. +"But no respect, please. That makes me out too old." + +The Tzigana, taking Vogotzine's arm, led him gently toward the door, +a little alarmed at the purple hue of the General's cheeks and forehead. +"Come, take a little fresh air," she said to the old soldier, who +regarded her with round, expressionless eyes. + +As they disappeared in the garden, Varhely drew from his pocket the +little package given to him by Menko's valet. + +"Here is something from another friend! It was brought to me at the door +of the church." + +"Ah! I thought that Menko would send me some word of congratulation," +said Andras, after he had read upon the envelope the young Count's +signature. "Thanks, my dear Varhely." + +"Now," said Yanski, "may happiness attend you, Andras! I hope that you +will let me hear from you soon." + +Zilah took the hand which Varhely extended, and clasped it warmly in both +his own. + +Upon the steps Varhely found Marsa, who, in her turn, shook his hand. + +"Au revoir, Count." + +"Au revoir, Princess." + +She smiled at Andras, who accompanied Varhely, and who held in his hand +the package with the seals unbroken. + +"Princess!" she said. "That is a title by which every one has been +calling me for the last hour; but it gives me the greatest pleasure to +hear it spoken by you, my dear Varhely. But, Princess or not, I shall +always be for you the Tzigana, who will play for you, whenever you wish +it, the airs of her country--of our country--!" + +There was, in the manner in which she spoke these simple words, a gentle +grace which evoked in the mind of the old patriot memories of the past +and the fatherland. + +"The Tzigana is the most charming of all! The Tzigana is the most loved +of all!" he said, in Hungarian, repeating a refrain of a Magyar song. + +With a quick, almost military gesture, he saluted Andras and Marsa as +they stood at the top of the steps, the sun casting upon them dancing +reflections through the leaves of the trees. + +The Prince and Princess responded with a wave of the hand; and General +Vogotzine, who was seated under the shade of a chestnut-tree, with his +coat unbuttoned and his collar open, tried in vain to rise to his feet +and salute the departure of the last guest. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +A DREAM SHATTERED + +They were alone at last; free to exchange those eternal vows which they +had just taken before the altar and sealed with a long, silent pressure +when their hands were united; alone with their love, the devoted love +they had read so long in each other's eyes, and which had burned, in the +church, beneath Marsa's lowered lids, when the Prince had placed upon her +finger the nuptial ring. + +This moment of happiness and solitude after all the noise and excitement +was indeed a blessed one! + +Andras had placed upon the piano of the salon Michel Menko's package, +and, seated upon the divan, he held both Marsa's hands in his, as she +stood before him. + +"My best wishes, Princess!" he said. "Princess! Princess Zilah! That +name never sounded so sweet in my ears before! My wife! My dear and +cherished wife!" As she listened to the music of the voice she loved, +Marsa said to herself, that sweet indeed was life, which, after so many +trials, still had in reserve for her such joys. And so deep was her +happiness, that she wished everything could end now in a beautiful dream +which should have no awakening,. + +"We will depart for Paris whenever you like," said the Prince. + +"Yes," she exclaimed, sinking to his feet, and throwing her arms about +his neck as he bent over her, "let us leave this house; take me away, +take me away, and let a new life begin for me, the life I have longed for +with you and your love!" + +There was something like terror in her words, and in the way she clung to +this man who was her hero. When she said "Let us leave this house," she +thought, with a shudder, of all her cruel suffering, of all that she +hated and which had weighed upon her like a nightmare. She thirsted for +a different air, where no phantom of the past could pursue her, where she +should feel free, where her life should belong entirely to him. + +"I will go and take off this gown," she murmured, rising, "and we will +run away like two eloping lovers." + +"Take off that gown? Why? It would be such a pity! You are so lovely +as you are!" + +"Well," said Marsa, glancing down upon him with an almost mutinous smile, +which lent a peculiar charm to her beauty, "I will not change this white +gown, then; a mantle thrown over it will do. And you will take your wife +in her bridal dress to Paris, my Prince, my hero--my husband!" + +He rose, threw his arms about her, and, holding her close to his heart, +pressed one long, silent kiss upon the exquisite lips of his beautiful +Tzigana. + +She gently disengaged herself from his embrace, with a shivering sigh; +and, going slowly toward the door, she turned, and threw him a kiss, +saying: + +"I will come back soon, my Andras!" + +And, although wishing to go for her mantle, nevertheless she still stood +there, with her eyes fixed upon the Prince and her mouth sweetly +tremulous with a passion of feeling, as if she could not tear herself +away. + +The piano upon which Andras had cast the package given him by Varhely was +there between them; and the Prince advanced a step or two, leaning his +hand upon the ebony cover. As Marsa approached for a last embrace before +disappearing on her errand, her glance fell mechanically upon the small +package sealed with red wax; and, as she read, in the handwriting she +knew so well, the address of the Prince and the signature of Michel +Menko, she raised her eyes violently to the face of Prince Zilah, as if +to see if this were not a trap; if, in placing this envelope within her +view, he were not trying to prove her. There was in her look fright, +sudden, instinctive fright, a fright which turned her very lips to ashes; +and she recoiled, her eyes returning fascinated to the package, while +Andras, surprised at the unexpected expression of the Tzigana's convulsed +features, exclaimed, in alarm: + +"What is it, Marsa? What is the matter?" + +"I--I" + +She tried to smile. + +"Nothing--I do not know! I--" + +She made a desperate effort to look him in the face; but she could not +remove her eyes from that sealed package bearing the name Menko. + +Ah! that Michel! She had forgotten him! Miserable wretch! He returned, +he threatened her, he was about to avenge himself: she was sure of it! + +That paper contained something horrible. What could Michel Menko have to +say to Prince Andras, writing him at such an hour, except to tell him +that the wretched woman he had married was branded with infamy? + +She shuddered from head to foot, steadying herself against the piano, her +lips trembling nervously. + +"I assure you, Marsa--" began the Prince, taking her hands. "Your hands +are cold. Are you ill?" + +His eyes followed the direction of Marsa's, which were still riveted upon +the piano with a dumb look of unutterable agony. + +He instantly seized the sealed package, and, holding it up, exclaimed: + +"One would think that it was this which troubled you!" + +"O Prince! I swear to you!--" + +"Prince?" + +He repeated in amazement this title which she suddenly gave him; she, +who called him Andras, as he called her Marsa. Prince? He also, in his +turn, felt a singular sensation of fright, wondering what that package +contained, and if Marsa's fate and his own were not connected with some +unknown thing within it. + +"Let us see," he said, abruptly breaking the seals, "what this is." + +Rapidly, and as if impelled, despite herself, Marsa caught the wrist of +her husband in her icy hand, and, terrified, supplicating, she cried, in +a wild, broker voice: + +"No, no, I implore you! No! Do not read it! Do not read it!" + +He contemplated her coldly, and, forcing himself to be calm, asked: + +"What does this parcel of Michel Menko's contain?" + +"I do not know," gasped Marsa. "But do not read it! In the name of the +Virgin" (the sacred adjuration of the Hungarians occurring to her mind, +in the midst of her agony), "do not read it!" + +"But you must be aware, Princess," returned Andras, "that you are taking +the very means to force me to read it." + +She shivered and moaned, there was such a change in the way Andras +pronounced this word, which he had spoken a moment before in tones so +loving and caressing--Princess. + +Now the word threatened her. + +"Listen! I am about to tell you: I wished--Ah! My God! My God! +Unhappy woman that I am! Do not read, do not read!" + +Andras, who had turned very pale, gently removed her grasp from the +package, and said, very slowly and gravely, but with a tenderness in +which hope still appeared: + +"Come, Marsa, let us see; what do you wish me to think? Why do you wish +me not to read these letters? for letters they doubtless are. What have +letters sent me by Count Menko to do with you? You do not wish me to +read them?" + +He paused a moment, and then, while Marsa's eyes implored him with the +mute prayer of a person condemned to death by the executioner, he +repeated: + +"You do not wish me to read them? Well, so be it; I will not read them, +but upon one condition: you must swear to me, understand, swear to me, +that your name is not traced in these letters, and that Michel Menko has +nothing in common with the Princess Zilah." + +She listened, she heard him; but Andras wondered whether she understood, +she stood so still and motionless, as if stupefied by the shock of a +moral tempest. + +"There is, I am certain," he continued in the same calm, slow voice, +"there is within this envelope some lie, some plot. I will not even know +what it is. I will not ask you a single question, and I will throw these +letters, unread, into the fire; but swear to me, that, whatever this +Menko, or any other, may write to me, whatever any one may say, is an +infamy and a calumny. Swear that, Marsa." + +"Swear it, swear again? Swear always, then? Oath upon oath? Ah! it is +too much!" she cried, her torpor suddenly breaking into an explosion of +sobs and cries. "No! not another lie, not one! Monsieur, I am a wretch, +a miserable woman! Strike me! Lash me, as I lash my dogs! I have +deceived you! Despise me! Hate me! I am unworthy even of pity! The +man whose letters you hold revenges himself, and stabs me, has been--my +lover!" + +"Michel!" + +"The most cowardly, the vilest being in the world! If he hated me, he +might have killed me; he might have torn off my veil just now, and struck +me across the lips. But to do this, to do this! To attack you, you, +you! Ah! miserable dog; fit only to be stoned to death! Judas! Liar +and coward! Would to heaven I had planted a knife in his heart!" + +"Ah! My God!" murmured the Prince, as if stabbed himself. + +At this cry of bitter agony from Andras Zilah, Marsa's imprecations +ceased; and she threw herself madly at his feet; while he stood erect and +pale--her judge. + +She lay there, a mass of white satin and lace, her loosened hair falling +upon the carpet, where the pale bridal flowers withered beneath her +husband's heel; and Zilah, motionless, his glance wandering from the +prostrate woman to the package of letters which burned his fingers, +seemed ready to strike, with these proofs of her infamy, the distracted +Tzigana, a wolf to threaten, a slave to supplicate. + +Suddenly he leaned over, seized her by the wrists, and raised her almost +roughly. + +"Do you know," he said, in low, quivering tones, "that the lowest of +women is less culpable than you? Ten times, a hundred times, less +culpable! Do you know that I have the right to kill you?" + +"Ah! that, yes! Do it! do it! do it!" she cried, with the smile of a +mad woman. + +He pushed her slowly from him. + +"Why have you committed this infamy? It was not for my fortune; you are +rich." + +Marsa moaned, humiliated to the dust by this cold contempt. She would +have preferred brutal anger; anything, to this. + +"Ah! your fortune!" she said, finding a last excuse for herself out of +the depth of her humiliation, which had now become eternal; "it was not +that, nor your name, nor your title that I wished: it was your love!" + +The heart of the Prince seemed wrung in a vise as this word fell from +those lips, once adored, nay, still adored, soiled as they were. + +"My love!" + +"Yes, your love, your love alone! I would have confessed all, been your +mistress, your slave, your thing, if I--I had not feared to lose you, to +see myself abased in the eyes of you, whom I adored! I was afraid, +afraid of seeing you fly from me--yes, that was my crime! It is +infamous, ah! I know it; but I thought only of keeping you, you alone; +you, my admiration, my hero, my life, my god! I deserve to be punished; +yes, yes, I deserve it--But those letters--those letters which you would +have cast into the fire if I had not revealed the secret of my life--you +told me so yourself--I might have sworn what you asked, and you would +have believed me--I might have done so; but no, it would have been too +vile, too cowardly! Ah! kill me! That is what I deserve, that is what--" + +"Where are you going?" she cried, interrupting herself, her eyes dilated +with fear, as she saw that Zilah, without answering, was moving toward +the door. + +She forgot that she no longer had the right to question; she only felt, +that, once gone, she would never see him again. Ah! a thousand times a +blow with a knife rather than that! Was this the way the day, which +began so brightly, was to end? + +"Where are you going?" + +"What does that matter to you?" + +"True! I beg your pardon. At least--at least, Monsieur, one word, I +implore. What are your commands? What do you wish me to do? There must +be laws to punish those who have done what I have done! Shall I accuse +myself, give myself up to justice? Ah! speak to me! speak to me!" + +"Live with Michel Menko, if he is still alive after I have met him!" +responded Andras, in hard, metallic tones, waving back the unhappy woman +who threw herself on her knees, her arms outstretched toward him. + +The door closed behind him. For a moment she gazed after him with +haggard eyes: and then, dragging herself, her bridal robes trailing +behind her, to the door, she tried to call after him, to detain the man +whom she adored, and who was flying from her; but her voice failed her, +and, with one wild, inarticulate cry, she fell forward on her face, with +a horrible realization of the immense void which filled the house, this +morning gay and joyous, now silent as a tomb. + +And while the Prince, in the carriage which bore him away, read the +letters in which Marsa spoke of her love for another, and that other the +man whom he called "my child;" while he paused in this agonizing reading +to ask himself if it were true, if such a sudden annihilation of his +happiness were possible, if so many misfortunes could happen in such a +few hours; while he watched the houses and trees revolve slowly by him, +and feared that he was going mad--Marsa's servants ate the remnants of +the lunch, and drank what was left of the champagne to the health of the +Prince and Princess Zilah. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +"THE WORLD HOLDS BUT ONE FAIR MAIDEN" + +Paris, whose everyday gossip has usually the keenness and eagerness of +the tattle of small villages, preserves at times, upon certain serious +subjects, a silence which might be believed to be generous. Whether it +is from ignorance or from respect, at all events it has little to say. +There are vague suspicions of the truth, surmises are made, but nothing +is affirmed; and this sort of abdication of public malignity is the most +complete homage that can be rendered either to character or talent. + +The circle of foreigners in Paris, that contrasted society which circled +and chattered in the salon of the Baroness Dinati, could not, of +necessity, be ignorant that the Princess Zilah, since the wedding which +had attracted to Maisons-Lafitte a large part of the fashionable world, +had not left her house, while Prince Andras had returned to Paris alone. + +There were low-spoken rumors of all sorts. It was said that Marsa had +been attacked by an hereditary nervous malady; and in proof of this were +cited the visits made at Maisons-Lafitte by Dr. Fargeas, the famous +physician of Salpetriere, who had been summoned in consultation with Dr. +Villandry. These two men, both celebrated in their profession, had been +called in by Vogotzine, upon the advice of Yanski Varhely, who was more +Parisian and better informed than the General. + +Vogotzine was dreadfully uneasy, and his brain seemed ready to burst with +the responsibility thrust upon him. Since the terrible day of the +marriage--Vogotzine shrugged his shoulders in anger and amazement when +he uttered this word marriage--Marsa had not recovered from a sort of +frightened stupor; and the General, terrified at his niece's condition, +was really afraid of going insane himself. + +"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" he said, "all this is deplorably sad." + +After the terrible overthrow of all her hopes, Marsa was seized with a +fever, and she lay upon her bed in a frightful delirium, which entirely +took away the little sense poor old Vogotzine had left. Understanding +nothing of the reason of Zilah's disappearance, the General listened in +childish alarm to Marsa, wildly imploring mercy and pity of some +invisible person. The unhappy old man would have faced a battalion of +honveds or a charge of bashi-bazouks rather than remain there in the +solitary house, with the delirious girl whose sobs and despairing appeals +made the tears stream down the face of this soldier, whose brain was now +weakened by drink, but who had once contemplated with a dry eye, whole +ditches full of corpses, which some priest, dressed in mourning, blessed +in one mass. + +Vogotzine hastened to Paris, and questioned Andras; but the Prince +answered him in a way that permitted of no further conversation upon the +subject. + +"My personal affairs concern myself alone." + +The General had not energy enough to demand an explanation; and he bowed, +saying that it was certainly not his business to interfere; but he +noticed that Zilah turned very pale when he told him that it would be a +miracle if Marsa recovered from the fever. + +"It is pitiful!" he said. + +Zilah cast a strange look at him, severe and yet terrified. + +Vogotzine said no more; but he went at once to Dr. Fargeas, and asked him +to come as soon as possible to Maisons-Lafitte. + +The doctor's coupe in a few hours stopped before the gate through which +so short a time ago the gay marriage cortege had passed, and Vogotzine +ushered him into the little salon from which Marsa had once driven Menko. + +Then the General sent for Mademoiselle--or, rather, Madame, as he +corrected himself with a shrug of his shoulders. But suddenly he became +very serious as he saw upon the threshold Marsa, whose fever had +temporarily left her, and who could now manage to drag herself along, +pale and wan, leaning upon the arm of her maid. + +Dr. Fargeas cast a keen glance at the girl, whose eyes, burning with +inward fire, alone seemed to be living. + +"Madame," said the doctor, quietly, when the General had made a sign to +his niece to listen to the stranger, "General Vogotzine has told me that +you were suffering. I am a physician. Will you do me the honor and the +kindness to answer my questions?" + +"Yes," said the General, "do, my dear Marsa, to please me." + +She stood erect, not a muscle of her face moving; and, without replying, +she looked steadily into the doctor's eyes. In her turn, she was +studying him. It was like a defiance before a duel. + +Then she said suddenly, turning to Vogotzine: + +"Why have you brought a physician? I am not ill." + +Her voice was clear, but low and sad, and it was an evident effort for +her to speak. + +"No, you are not ill, my dear child; but I don't know--I don't +understand--you make me a little uneasy, a very little. You know if I, +your old uncle, worried you even a little, you would not feel just right +about it, would you now?" + +With which rather incoherent speech, he tried to force a smile; but +Marsa, taking no notice of him, turned slowly to the doctor, who had not +removed his eyes from her face. + +"Well," she said, dryly, "what do you want? What do you wish to ask me? +What shall I tell you? Who requested you to come here?" + +Vogotzine made a sign to the maid to leave the room. + +"I told you, I have come at the General's request," said Fargeas, with a +wave of his hand toward Vogotzine. + +Marsa only replied: "Ah!" But it seemed to the doctor that there was a +world of disappointment and despair expressed in this one ejaculation. + +Then she suddenly became rigid, and lapsed into one of those stupors +which had succeeded the days of delirium, and had frightened Vogotzine so +much. + +"There! There! Look at her!" exclaimed the old man. + +Fargeas, without listening to the General, approached Marsa, and placed +her in a chair near the window. He looked in her eyes, and placed his +hand upon her burning forehead; but Marsa made no movement. + +"Are you in pain?" he asked, gently. + +The young girl, who a moment before had asked questions and still seemed +interested a little in life, stirred uneasily, and murmured, in an odd, +singing voice: + +"I do not know!" + +"Did you sleep last night?" + +"I do not know!" + +"How old are you?" asked Fargeas, to test her mental condition. + +"I do not know!" + +The physician's eyes sought those of the General. Vogotzine, his face +crimson, stood by the chair, his little, round eyes blinking with emotion +at each of these mournful, musical responses. + +"What is your name?" asked the doctor, slowly. + +She raised her dark, sad eyes, and seemed to be seeking what to reply; +then, wearily letting her head fall backward, she answered, as before: + +"I do not know!" + +Vogotzine, who had become purple, seized the doctor's arm convulsively. + +"She no longer knows even her own name!" + +"It will be only temporary, I hope," said the doctor. "But in her +present state, she needs the closest care and attention." + +"I have never seen her like this before, never since--since the first +day," exclaimed the General, in alarm and excitement. "She tried to kill +herself then; but afterward she seemed more reasonable, as you saw just +now. When she asked you who sent you, I thought Ah! at last she is +interested in something. But now it is worse than ever. Oh! this is +lively for me, devilish lively!" + +Fargeas took between his thumb and finger the delicate skin of the +Tzigana, and pinched her on the neck, below the ear. Marsa did not stir. + +"There is no feeling here," said the doctor; "I could prick it with a pin +without causing any sensation of pain." Then, again placing his hand +upon Marsa's forehead, he tried to rouse some memory in the dormant +brain: + +"Come, Madame, some one is waiting for you. Your uncle--your uncle +wishes you to play for him upon the piano! Your uncle! The piano!" + +"The World holds but One Fair Maiden!" hummed Vogotzine, trying to give, +in his husky voice, the melody of the song the Tzigana was so fond of. + +Mechanically, Marsa repeated, as if spelling the word: "The piano! +piano!" and then, in peculiar, melodious accents, she again uttered her +mournful: "I do not know!" + +This time old Vogotzine felt as if he were strangling; and the doctor, +full of pity, gazed sadly down at the exquisitely beautiful girl, with +her haggard, dark eyes, and her waxen skin, sitting there like a marble +statue of despair. + +"Give her some bouillon," said Fargeas. "She will probably refuse it in +her present condition; but try. She can be cured," he added; "but she +must be taken away from her present surroundings. Solitude is necessary, +not this here, but--" + +"But?" asked Vogotzine, as the doctor paused. + +"But, perhaps, that of an asylum. Poor woman!" turning again to Marsa, +who had not stirred. "How beautiful she is!" + +The doctor, greatly touched, despite his professional indifference, left +the villa, the General accompanying him to the gate. It was decided that +he should return the next day with Villandry and arrange for the +transportation of the invalid to Dr. Sims's establishment at Vaugirard. +In a new place her stupor might disappear, and her mind be roused from +its torpor; but a constant surveillance was necessary. Some pretext must +be found to induce Marsa to enter a carriage; but once at Vaugirard, the +doctor gave the General his word that she should be watched and taken +care of with the utmost devotion. + +Vogotzine felt the blood throb in his temples as he listened to the +doctor's decision. The establishment at Vaugirard! His niece, the +daughter of Prince Tchereteff, and the wife of Prince Zilah, in an insane +asylum! + +But he himself had not the right to dispose of Marsa's liberty; the +consent of the Prince was necessary. It was in vain for Andras to refuse +to have his life disturbed; it was absolutely necessary to find out from +him what should be done with Marsa, who was his wife and Princess Zilah. + +The General also felt that he was incapable of understanding anything, +ignorant as he was of the reasons of the rupture, of Zilah's anger +against the Tzigana, and of the young girl's terrible stupor; and, as he +drank his cherry cordial or his brandy, wondered if he too were insane, +as he repeated, like his niece: + +"I do not know! I do not know!" + +He felt obliged, however, to go and tell the Prince of the opinion of the +illustrious physician of Salpetriere. + +Then he asked Zilah: + +"What is your decision?" + +"General," replied Andras, "whatever you choose to do is right. But, +once for all, remember that I wish henceforth to live alone, entirely +alone, and speak to me neither of the future nor of the past, which is +cruel, nor of the present, which is hopeless. I have determined---" + +"What?" + +"To live hereafter an absolutely selfish life!" + +"That will change you," returned the General, in amazement. + +"And will console me," added Andras. + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + +Life is a tempest +Nervous natures, as prompt to hope as to despair +No answer to make to one who has no right to question me +Nothing ever astonishes me +Poverty brings wrinkles + + + + +End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of Prince Zilah, v2 +by Jules Claretie + diff --git a/3928.zip b/3928.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..eeed031 --- /dev/null +++ b/3928.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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