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Updated: May 31, 2025
"What does the doctor say?" replied Yanski. "Does he hope to save her?" Zilah made no response. Varhely's question was the most terrible of answers. Ensconced in an armchair, the Prince then laid bare his heart to old Varhely, sitting near him. She was about to die, then! Solitude! Was that to be the end of his life?
Some Hungarian 'honveds, bourgeois' militia, and Varhely's hussars held at the edge of the black opening resinous torches, which the wintry wind shook like scarlet plumes, and which stained the snow with great red spots of light.
Andras shuddered; but Marsa's hand, which held his, did not even tremble. Old Varhely's eyes were dim with tears. She knew that she was about to die. She knew it, and smiled at kindly death. It would take away all shame. Her memory would be to Andras the sacred one of the woman he adored.
"Yes, on one condition," was Varhely's response. "She must arrive at a comprehension that if she has succumbed, it is because she has committed faults. All defeats have their geneses. Before the enemy we were not a unit. There were too many discussions, and not enough action; such a state of affairs is always fatal." The years brought happy changes to Hungary.
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