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Updated: June 10, 2025
Marsa experienced the greatest delight in seeing Andras, and listening to the low, tender accents of his voice; she felt herself to be loved and protected. She gave herself up to boundless hopes she, who had before her, perhaps, only a few days of life. She felt perfectly happy near Andras; and it seemed to her that to-day his manner was tenderer, the tones of his voice more caressing, than usual.
I love you madly, passionately! Do you understand, Marsa? Do you understand?" and he approached with outstretched hands the Tzigana, whose frame was shaken with indignant anger. "Do you understand? I love you still. I was your lover, and I will, I will be so again."
This salon communicated with a much larger one, where General Vogotzine usually took his siesta, and which Marsa abandoned to him, preferring the little room, the windows of which, framed in ivy, looked out upon the garden, with the forest in the distance. Michel Menko was well acquainted with this little salon, where he had more than once seen Marsa seated at the piano playing her favorite airs.
"Ah, don't dare to say that!" she cried, drawing close to the little table where the daggers rested amid the objects of art. "Don't be vile enough to speak to me of a past of which nothing remains to me but disgust! Let not one word which recalls it to me mount to your lips, not one, you understand, or I will kill you like the coward you are!" "Do so, Marsa!" he cried with wild, mad passion.
This death, which freed him, produced a strange effect upon him, not unmingled with remorse. Poor woman! She had worthily borne his name, after all. Unintelligent, cold, and wrapped up in her money, she had never understood him; but, perhaps, if he had been more patient, things might have gone better between them. But no; Marsa was his one, his never-to-be-forgotten love.
The people of the barge thought they were dreaming, and stood open- mouthed in amazement, while Jean cried out: "Mamma, see, mamma! Mamma! Mamma!" Then the younger bargeman said to Marsa: "Madame, no, no! we can not accept. It is too much. You are too good. Give it back, Jean." "It is true, Madame," faltered his wife. "It is impossible. It is too much."
"Which way, Marsa Frank?" asked Toots, as they reached the gate. "To Wellsburg," answered Merriwell, "and get us there in a hurry. Show us what these ponies can do over twenty miles of good country road." "Yes, sah," grinned the colored man, "Ah'll let de hosses out a notch or two, sah, jes' as soon as we git frough de village."
Many of the passengers, with almost childish gayety, landed, and strolled about on the green bank. Marsa was left alone, glad of the silence which reigned on the steamer after the noisy chatter of a moment ago. She leaned over the side of the boat, listening idly to the swish of the water along its sides.
He was surprised and strangely fascinated, attracted by the incongruous mixture of extreme refinement and a sort of haughty unconventionality he found in Marsa.
Suddenly she heard in the garden the baying of dogs, and she saw, held in check by a domestic, Duna and Bundas, bounding through the masses of flowers toward the gate, where a man appeared, whom Marsa, leaning over the balcony, recognized at once. "The wretch!" she exclaimed between her clenched teeth. It was Menko.
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