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Updated: April 30, 2025
"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 Count did not tell us exactly where he was going, however, but to America, somewhere. We only know, the coachman Pierre, and myself, that the Count will not return again to Paris. We are still in his service, however, and are to await his orders." Hesitating a little, the servant added: "Have I not the honor to speak to Prince Zilah?" "Why?" asked Andras.
"In a kennel of dogs, under the lash of a slavedriver; breaking stones, begging my bread, if you said to me: 'Do that, it is atonement!" "Well!" cried Andras, passionately, his lips trembling, his blood surging through his veins.
At forty-four, the Prince was bidding farewell to his bachelor life: it was no folly, and Yanski saw with delight that the ancient race of the Zilahs, from time immemorial servants of patriotism and the right, was not to be extinct with Prince Andras. Hungary, whose future seemed brightening; needed the Zilahs in the future as she had needed them in the past.
Menko remained but a few moments, evidently embarrassed at his reception; and after his departure, Zilah, who had noticed the Tzigana's coldness, asked her if she knew his friend. "Very well," she said, in a peculiar tone. "It would be difficult to imagine so from the way in which you received him," said Andras, laughing. "Poor Michel! Have you any reason to be angry with him?" "None."
But I did not wish my vengeance to arrive too late, when what I had assumed the right to prevent had become irreparable." "I do not understand exactly," said Varhely. Menko glanced at Valla as if to ask whether he could speak openly before the Italian. "Monsieur Angelo Valla was one of the witnesses of the marriage of Prince Andras Zilah," said Yanski.
The first warmth in the air entered her veins like a sweet intoxication. Her head felt heavy, and in her whole body she felt a pleasant languor. She had wished to sink thus to rest, as nature was awakening. The doctor seemed very uneasy at this languidness, of which Marsa said: "It is delicious!" He whispered one evening to Andras: "It is grave!"
She made an evident effort to appear gay, like the pretty women who were there, and who, despite their prettiness, seemed to Andras perfectly insignificant; but she did not succeed in driving away the cloud of sadness which overshadowed her exquisite, dark face. And in the ears of the Prince rang again the bitter accents of that voice saying in a harsh, almost revolted tone: "Yes, a Russian!
Zilah's clear eye and imperious manner awed the man, and he bowed humbly, not daring to speak. Andras turned on his heel, mounted the steps, and entered the house; then he stopped and listened. She was with him. Yes, a man was there, and the man was speaking, speaking to Marsa, speaking doubtless of love.
She met you years ago, in the saddest moment of your life." "Your mother?" said Andras, waiting anxiously for the young girl to continue. "Yes, my mother." She pointed to the buckle which clasped the belt of her dress. "See," she said. Andras felt a sudden pang, which yet was not altogether pain, dart through his heart, and his eyes wandered questioningly from the buckle to Marsa's face.
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