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Updated: October 26, 2025
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.
And other low, sweet little voices repeated, like a refrain: "Thank-you-Ma-dame." The two men, in astonishment, came and stood behind the children, and gazed silently at Marsa. "And your baby, Madame?" said the Tzigana, looking at the sleeping infant, that still pressed its rosy lips to the mother's breast. "How pretty it is! Will you permit me to offer it its baptismal dress?"
And he laughed loudly at what he considered wit. But a frowning glance from the Tzigana cut short his hilarity; and, with a mechanical movement, he drew himself up in a military manner, as if the Czar were passing by. "I will leave you to finish dressing, my dear," he said, after a moment.
It was said that Marsa, until she was his wife, would not accept any jewels from the Prince. The opals in the silver agraffe were all she wanted. "You know them, don't you, Jacquemin? The famous opals of the Tzigana? Put that all in, every word of it." "Yes, it is chic enough." answered the reporter. "It is very romantic, a little too much so; my readers will never believe it.
And the Tzigana, lost in the dream which was now a tangible reality, saying nothing, but gazing with her beautiful eyes, now moist, into the face of Andras, remained encircled in his arms, while he smiled and whispered, again and again, "I love you!" All the rest of the world had ceased to exist for these two beings, absorbed in each other.
She lay there, a mass of white satin and lace, her loosened hair falling upon the carpet, where the pale bridal flowers withered beneath her husband's heel; and Zilah, motionless, his glance wandering from the prostrate woman to the package of letters which burned his fingers, seemed ready to strike, with these proofs of her infamy, the distracted Tzigana, a wolf to threaten, a slave to supplicate.
"Show this gentleman out," she said, very quietly. Then the Tzigana,'s romance, in which she had put all her faith and her belief, had ended, like a bad dream, she said to herself: "My life is over!" What remained to her? Expiation? Forgetfulness? She thought of the cloister and the life of prayer of those blue sisters she saw under the trees of Maisons-Lafitte.
There was, in the manner in which she spoke these simple words, a gentle grace which evoked in the mind of the old patriot memories of the past and the fatherland. "The Tzigana is the most charming of all! The Tzigana is the most loved of all!" he said, in Hungarian, repeating a refrain of a Magyar song.
When he feverishly asked himself this question, Zilah recalled at the same time Marsa, crouching at his feet, and giving no other excuse than this: "I loved you! I wished to belong to you, to be your wife!" His wife! Yes, the beautiful Tzigana he had met at Baroness Dinati's was now his wife! He could punish or pardon.
But to atone for my fault my crime, if you will I am ready to do anything you order, to be your miserable slave, in order to obtain the pardon which I have come to ask of you, and which I will ask on my knees, if you command me to do so." The Tzigana frowned. "I have nothing to pardon you, nothing to command you," she said with an air more wearied than stern, humiliating, and disdainful.
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