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Updated: May 8, 2025
He took her hands, and gazed upon her face with a look of infinite tenderness. "And suppose that you had not found me?" she asked. "I should have continued to drag out a weary existence. Ask Varhely what I have told him of my life." Marsa felt her heart sink within her; but she forced herself to smile. All that Varhely had said to her returned to her mind.
Varhely and Valla crossed the garden, entered the house, and found themselves face to face with Menko. Varhely would scarcely have recognized him. The former graceful, elegant young man had suddenly aged: his hair was thin and gray upon the temples, and, instead of the carefully trained moustache of the embassy attache, a full beard now covered his emaciated cheeks.
In short, Count Menko is connected in some way, I don't know how, with this Labanoff. He went to Poland to join him, and the Russian police seized him. I think myself that they were quite right in their action." "Possibly," said Varhely; "but I do not care to discuss the right of the Russian police to defend themselves or the Czar.
If Count Josef Ladany rescued Menko from the police of the Czar, and, by setting him free, delivered him to him, Varhely, all was well. By entering the ministry, Ladany would thus be at least useful for something. The negotiations with Warsaw, however, detained Yanski Varhely at Vienna longer than he wished.
I fight tomorrow with Count M. If you do not see me again, pray for the soul of Varhely." Count Varhely had sent this despatch before going to keep his appointment with Michel Menko. It had been arranged that they were to fight in a field near Pistoja. Some peasant women, who were braiding straw hats, laughed as they saw the men pass by.
With lips white as his moustache, Varhely spoke these words like a judge delivering a solemn sentence. A strange expression passed over Zilah's face. He felt as if some horrible weight had been lifted from his heart. Menko dead!
This calm, quiet spot gradually produced upon Andras the salutary effect of a bath after a night of feverish excitement. His reflections became less bitter, and, strange to relate, it was rough old Yanski Varhely, who, by his tenderness and thoughtfulness, led his friend to a more resigned frame of mind. Very often, after nightfall, would Zilah descend with him to the shore below.
But since he escapes me and she is irresponsible and punished I regard as an accomplice of their infamy any man who makes allusion to it with either tongue or pen. And, my dear Varhely, I wish to act alone. Don't be angry; I know that in your hands my honor would be as faithfully guarded as in my own."
Michel Menko was evidently intending to approach her, and he had made a few steps toward her, when he felt a hand laid upon his shoulder. He turned, thinking it was the Prince; but it was Yanski Varhely, who said to the young man: "Well, my dear Count, you did right to come from London to this fete.
He had listened to Varhely, an honest man; drawing a parallel between a vanquished soldier and this fallen girl Varhely, the rough, implacable Varhely, who had also been the dupe of the Tzigana, and one evening at Sainte-Adresse had even counselled the deceived husband to pardon her. In a state bordering on frenzy, Zilah returned to his hotel, thinking: "He will be with her this evening!"
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