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Updated: May 10, 2025
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.
Through the open door of the church, at the end of the old oak arches, could be seen Marsa's white, kneeling figure, and beside her Prince Zilah, whose blond head, as he stood gazing down upon his bride, towered above the rest of the party.
In my mother's country there is no name more popular than his." "So I have heard Count Menko say to Mademoiselle." If it were the maid's wish to remove all happiness from her mistress's face, she had met with complete success. At the name of Menko, Marsa's expression became dark and threatening.
The two bargemen bowed low in great emotion, and the whole bevy of little ones blew kisses to the beautiful lady in the black dress, whom the steamer was already bearing away. "At least tell us your name, Madame," cried the father. "Your name, that we may never forget you." A lovely smile appeared on Marsa's lips, and, in almost melancholy accents, she said: "My name!"
The woman, tall, dark and faded, a sort of turban upon her head, held out her hand toward Marsa's carriage with a graceful gesture and a broad smile the supplicating smile of those who beg.
She examined the signature, peering through her eyeglass, close to the canvas. "Yes, I knew it was. Michel Zichy!" This name of "Michel!" suddenly pronounced, sped like an arrow through Marsa's heart. She closed her eyes as if to shut out some hateful vision, and abruptly quitted the Baroness, who proceeded to analyze Zichy's portrait as she did the pictures in the salon on varnishing day.
But I am dying of the love which I can not conquer. Will you kiss me as a token that you have pardoned me?" For the first time, perhaps, Marsa's lips, trembling with emotion, then touched the Prince's forehead. But, before kissing him, her eyes had sought those of her mother, who bowed her head in assent. "And you," murmured the dying Prince, "will you forgive me, Tisza?"
What was the use of remaining at Sainte-Adresse, when the memories he sought to flee came to find him there, and since Marsa's presence haunted it as if she had lived there by his side?
You do not wish me to read them?" He paused a moment, and then, while Marsa's eyes implored him with the mute prayer of a person condemned to death by the executioner, he repeated: "You do not wish me to read them?
Through the open door of the church, at the end of the old oak arches, could be seen Marsa's white, kneeling figure, and beside her Prince Zilah, whose blond head, as he stood gazing down upon his bride, towered above the rest of the party.
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