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The marchioness, cosily ensconced on her sofa, was either asleep, or feigned to be, when Cagliari entered and whispered in her ear: "Rozina, my wife is dead!" Her eyes opened and a quick flush of pleasure overspread her face. "How? When? Where?" she asked eagerly. "At Nagy-Enyed killed by the insurgents." "Nonsense!" cried the marchioness. "Who told you so?"
He has procured an order that the troops in Italy shall wear for their summer uniform cotton blouses instead of linen, and he has the contract for furnishing the material." "But the prices named here are very low," objected Vajdar, reading from the paper Rozina had handed him. "Ah, but let me explain.
"But the court is in mourning now, you know," was Cagliari's soothing reminder. "And I am in mourning, too," returned Rozina, in a passion. "How long must I submit to this humiliation?" she demanded, compressing her lips and darting a wrathful look at her devoted slave.
"But go on!" urged Rozina; "what occurred after that in Toroczko?" "Nothing further is said about Toroczko," answered the other. "Have you no spies there?" demanded the marchioness. "No, there are no informers in Toroczko. There was one, but you have made him your slave." "And you can sit there so calm and cool!" cried the woman, in a passion.
Soon after the fair Cyrene or Rozina, to call her by her real name found herself alone, the tall clock in her boudoir struck ten, although the hour was nearer two. She rose at once, and taking a little key from her bosom, unlocked and opened the door of the old-fashioned timepiece.
He donned hat and coat and sauntered after it, the emissary of the police always ten steps in the rear. Arrived at the opera-house, he purchased tickets for himself and his faithful attendant, and then made his way to the box of the marchioness. Rozina received him with apparent cordiality and listened to his whispered account of what had befallen him.
I shall render her the last honours with princely pomp, and shall then give orders to pursue and punish the insurgents who were responsible for her death." Rozina burst out laughing. It is always too irresistibly funny to see the devil trying to wash himself clean. Even Cagliari himself was forced to smile. "Yes," said he, "that is a joke we may laugh at, if you like.
With both hands Rozina drew the prince's head down and whispered in his ear: "She must die before this second marriage takes place." "I shall not meddle with destiny," returned the prince, straightening up again. "I shall be satisfied and ask no questions if Vajdar brings back a leaden casket containing the unhappy woman's remains.
"I use it for my name, however, and no one but my father confessor calls me by my real name, so that now I never hear it without thinking that I must fall on my knees and repeat a dozen paternosters in penance. Besides, my name doesn't suit me at all. It is Rozina, and I am as pale as moonshine.
After the prince had somewhat recovered from the effect produced upon him by Benjamin Vajdar's announcement, he gave himself up to the rapturous thought that now at last he could carry word to Rozina of his wife's death. He sought her presence without delay.
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