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Updated: June 24, 2025
You used as a weapon the letters of a woman, and of a woman whom you had deceived by promising her your name when it was no longer yours to give!" "Are you here to defend Mademoiselle Marsa Laszlo?" asked Michel, a trifle haughtily. "I am here to defend the Princess Zilah, and to avenge Prince Andras.
The Tzigana, whom the Baroness requested him to take in to dinner, was Marsa, Marsa Laszlo, dressed in one of the black toilettes which she affected, and whose clear, dark complexion, great Arabian eyes, and heavy, wavy hair seemed to Andras's eyes to be the incarnation, in a prouder and more refined type, of the warm, supple, nervous beauty of the girls of his country.
"Prince," said Marsa Laszlo, suddenly, "do you know that I have been seeking you for a long time, and that when the Baroness Dinati presented you to me, she fulfilled one of my most ardent desires?" "Me, Mademoiselle? You have been seeking me?" "Yes, you. Tisza, of whom I spoke to you, my Tzigana mother, who bore the name of the blessed river of our country, taught me to repeat your name.
She spoke these words in grave, sweet accents, which seemed more melodious to Prince Andras than all the music of Baroness Dinati's concert. He divined that Marsa Laszlo found as much pleasure in speaking to him as he felt in listening.
Michel Menko was advancing to salute Marsa Laszlo, and take with affectionate respect the hand which Andras extended to him. Marsa coldly returned the low bow of the young man, and took no part in the conversation which followed.
Frankly, in accents of the deepest love and the most sincere devotion, Andras asked Marsa Laszlo if she would consent to become his wife. But he was terrified at the expression of anguish which passed over the pale face of the young girl. Marsa, Princess Zilah!
And was not this existence sweet and pleasant, compared with the life led by Tisza in the castle of the suburbs of Moscow? In this solitude, in the villa of Maisons-Lafitte, Andras Zilah was again to see Marsa Laszlo. He came not once, but again and again.
One of them, the youngest and prettiest, a gypsy, was seized by the Russian officer, and, when peace was declared soon after, carried off by him to Russia. This was Tisza Laszlo, Marsa's mother. The officer, a great Russian nobleman, a handsome fellow and extremely rich, really loved her with a mad sort of love.
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.
She remembered that the one who reposed in the cemetery of Pere-Lachaise, beneath a tomb in the shape of a Russian dome, was her father, as the Tzigana, interred in Hungary, was her mother; and she asked in her prayer, that these two beings, separated in life, should pardon each other in the unknown, obscure place of departed souls. So Marsa Laszlo was left alone in the world.
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