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Updated: April 30, 2025
The boat advanced very slowly, as if Prince Andras had given the order to delay as much as possible the arrival at Maisons-Lafitte, where the whole fete would end for him, as Marsa was to land there. Already, upon the horizon could be perceived the old mill, with its broad, slated roof.
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.
Andras Zilah, Transylvanian Count and Prince of the Holy Empire, was one of those heroes who devote their whole lives to one aim, and, when they love, love always. Born for action, for chivalrous and incessant struggle, he had sacrificed his first youth to battling for his country. "The Hungarian was created on horseback," says a proverb, and Andras did not belie the saying.
Marsa, she is good, very good thinks only of the poor-the poor, you know! But whatever Doctor Fargeas may say about it, she is mad! You can't deceive me! She is insane! still insane!" "Insane?" said Andras, striving to control his emotion. The General, who was now staggering violently, clung desperately to the Prince.
Since man, in the progress of time, must either harden or break to pieces, the hero in them is of iron; but, on the other hand, their hearts are easily wounded by the cruel hand of some woman or the careless one of a child. Andras Zilah had not yet loved deeply, as it was in his nature to love.
He announced his engagement to the society, at once Parisian and foreign, of which he formed a part; and this marriage of the Magyar with the Tzigana was an event in aristocratic circles. There was an aroma of chivalrous romance about this action of Prince Andras, who was rich enough and independent enough to have married, if he had wished, a shepherdess, like the kings of fairy tales.
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.
In Marsa's eyes was a sort of wild excitement, a longing for sacrifice, a thirst for martyrdom. "Do I understand that you wish to enter a convent?" asked Andras, slowly. "Yes, the strictest and gloomiest. And into that tomb I shall carry, with your condemnation and farewell, the bitter regret of my love, the weight of my remorse!" The convent!
"What is it?" he cried; for Marsa's fingers were icy. It cost the young girl a terrible effort to prevent herself from losing consciousness. "But speak to me, Marsa," exclaimed Andras, "do not keep me in suspense."
"No, no," responded Fargeas; "we have only killed her stupor. Now leave her to us. Am I not right, my dear Sims? She can and must be cured!" Prince Andras had heard no news of Varhely for a long time. He only knew that the Count was in Vienna. Yanski had told the truth when he said that he had been summoned away by his friend, Angelo Valla.
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