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Updated: May 10, 2025
Or rather, with one of those subterfuges by which we voluntarily deceive ourselves, she thought: "He will be consoled for my death, if he ever learns what I was." But why should he ever learn it? She would take care to die so that it should be thought an accident. Marsa's resolve was taken. She had contracted a debt, and she would pay it with her blood.
The little salon into which the young Count was introduced was in the left wing of the villa; and it was Marsa's favorite room, because it was so quiet there.
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!
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.
The Prince advanced to meet her, his face luminous with happiness; and, taking the young girl's hands, he kissed the long lashes which rested upon her cheek, saying, as he contemplated the white vision of beauty before him: "How lovely you are, my Marsa! And how I love you!" The Prince spoke these words in a tone, and with a look, which touched the deepest depths of Marsa's heart.
Marsa's sole hope and thought were now to win, some day, forgiveness for having said nothing by the most absolute devotion that man had ever encountered.
The little salon into which the young Count was introduced was in the left wing of the villa; and it was Marsa's favorite room, because it was so quiet there.
He repeated in amazement this title which she suddenly gave him; she, who called him Andras, as he called her Marsa. Prince? He also, in his turn, felt a singular sensation of fright, wondering what that package contained, and if Marsa's fate and his own were not connected with some unknown thing within it. "Let us see," he said, abruptly breaking the seals, "what this is."
She was coming toward Zilah; in a moment, he would be able to touch her, if he wished, through the leaves! Even Vogotzine held his breath. Zilah eagerly questioned Marsa's face, as if to read thereon a secret, to decipher a name Menko's or his own.
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!"
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