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Never mind, though, I will write it all up in my best manner." The fete on board the steamer, given by the Prince in honor of his betrothal, had been as much talked of as a sensational first night at the Francais, and it added decidedly to the romantic prestige of Andras Zilah.
Varhely took from the mantelpiece the despatch he had sent from Florence, three days before, to the Princess Zilah, the one of which Vogotzine had spoken to Andras. He handed it to the Prince, and Andras read as follows: "I am about to risk my life for you. Tuesday evening either I shall be at Maisons-Lafitte, or I shall be dead.
As they drew away from Paris, passing the quays of Passy and the taverns of Point-du-jour, tables on wooden horses were rapidly erected, and covered with snowy cloths; and soon the guests of the Prince were seated about the board, Andras between Marsa and the Baroness, and Michel Menko some distance down on the other side of the table.
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.
After a minute or two he reappeared, and said to the Prince: "If you will follow me, Monsieur Freminwill see you." Andras found himself in the presence of a pleasant-looking middle-aged man, who was writing at a modest desk when the Hungarian entered, and who bowed politely, motioning him to be seated.
"But this romance of Prince Andras is by no means just a little you know! It is how shall I express it? It is epic, heroic, romantic what you will. I will relate it to you." "It will sell fifty thousand copies of our paper," gayly exclaimed Jacquemin, opening his ears, and taking notes mentally.
Then Varhely had only one idea. "Andras must not know of this article. He scarcely ever reads the journals; but some one may have sent this paper to him." And the old misanthrope hurried to the Prince's hotel, thinking this: that there always exist people ready to forward paragraphs of this kind.
He raised his round, uneasy eyes to Andras, who was striving to appear calm, but whose lips twitched nervously. "It is impossible to rouse her," continued Vogotzine. "The, doctors can do nothing. There is no hope except in an an an experiment." "An experiment?" "Yes, exactly, exactly an experiment. "The doctor," said Andras, calmly, "would like your niece to see me again?"
And, strange to say, for some inexplicable reason, Prince Andras Zilah now regretted the destruction of those odious letters. It seemed to him, with a singular displacement of his personality, that it was something of himself, since it was something of her, that he had destroyed.
He was entirely absorbed in the contemplation of Marsa; and, with lips a little compressed, he fixed a strange look upon the beautiful young girl to whom Andras was speaking, and who, very calm, almost grave, but evidently happy, answered the Prince with a sweet smile.
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