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Updated: June 24, 2025
He dragged himself away from the contemplation of the stone threshold, where slept the tired man drunk perhaps, at all events happier than the Prince and proceeded on his way through the woods to the abode of Marsa Laszlo. They had christened it The Vale o f Violets. How many memories were in that sweet name, each one of which stabbed and exasperated Zilah, rising before him like so many spectres.
He dragged himself away from the contemplation of the stone threshold, where slept the tired man drunk perhaps, at all events happier than the Prince and proceeded on his way through the woods to the abode of Marsa Laszlo. They had christened it The Vale o f Violets. How many memories were in that sweet name, each one of which stabbed and exasperated Zilah, rising before him like so many spectres.
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.
There was a certain womanly coquetry, mingled with a profound love of the soil where her martyred mother reposed, in the desire which Marsa Laszlo had to be called the Tzigana, instead of by her own name. The Tzigana! This name, as clear cut, resonant and expressive as the czimbaloms of the Hungarian musicians, lent her an additional, original charm.
There was a certain womanly coquetry, mingled with a profound love of the soil where her martyred mother reposed, in the desire which Marsa Laszlo had to be called the Tzigana, instead of by her own name. The Tzigana! This name, as clear cut, resonant and expressive as the czimbaloms of the Hungarian musicians, lent her an additional, original charm.
And the years passed without the Tzigana pardoning the Russian, and without Marsa ever having called him father. In the name of their child, the Prince one day solemnly asked Tisza Laszlo to consent to become his wife, and the mother refused. "But our daughter?" said the Prince. "My daughter? She will bear the name of her mother, which at least is not a Russian name." The Prince was silenced.
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