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Updated: June 29, 2025
All these years of blood and battle were now half forgotten by Prince Andras; but often Yanski Varhely, his companion of those days of hardship, the bold soldier who in former times had so often braved the broadsword of the Bohemian cuirassiers of Auersperg's regiment, would recall to him the past with a mournful shake of the head, and repeat, ironically, the bitter refrain of the song of defeat: Dance, dance, daughters of Hungary!
The light from an opal-tinted lamp fell full upon his face. He stood erect upon the threshold, while two other faces were turned toward him, two pale faces, Marsa's and another's. Andras paused in amazement. He had sought Menko; he found Varhely! "Yanski!"
What I have come for is to ask you to use your influence with the Russian Government to obtain Menko's release." "Are you very much interested in Menko?" "Very much," replied Yanski, in a tone which struck the minister as rather peculiar. "Then," asked Count Ladany with studied slowness, "you would like? "A note from you to the Russian ambassador, demanding Menko's release.
Marsa recoiled in fear at hearing this cry and the sudden appearance of the Prince; and, trembling like a leaf, with her face still turned toward that threshold where Andras stood, she murmured, in a voice choked with emotion: "Who is there? Who is it?" Yanski Varhely, unable to believe his eyes, advanced, as if to make sure. "Zilah!" he exclaimed, in his turn.
She then begged the Italian to send to Varhely a sort of long confession, in which she asked his aid to obtain from the Prince the desired interview. The letter reached Yanski while he was at Vienna. He answered it with a few icy words; but what did that matter to Marsa? It was not Varhely's rancor she cared for, but Zilah's contempt.
Another sorrow was to come into the life of the Prince, who had known so many. A few days after, with a sort of presentiment, he wrote to Yanski Varhely to come and spend a few months with him. He felt the need of his old friend; and the Count hastened to obey the summons. Varhely was astonished to see the change which so short a time had produced in Marsa.
"She was so charming," said old Yanski, not perceiving the expression of annoyance mingled with sadness which passed over the young man's face. "I knew your dear wife when she was quite small, in her father's house. He gave me an asylum at Prague, after the capitulation signed by Georgei. Although I was an Hungarian, and he a Bohemian, her father and I were great friends."
Erect, at the head of the ditch, his fingers grasping the hand of Yanski Varhely, young Prince Andras gazed upon the earthy bed, where, in his hussar's uniform, lay Prince Sandor, his long blond moustache falling over his closed mouth, his blood-stained hands crossed upon his black embroidered vest, his right hand still clutching the handle of his sabre, and on his forehead, like a star, the round mark of the bit of lead that had killed him.
"Here is something from another friend! It was brought to me at the door of the church." "Ah! I thought that Menko would send me some word of congratulation," said Andras, after he had read upon the envelope the young Count's signature. "Thanks, my dear Varhely." "Now," said Yanski, "may happiness attend you, Andras! I hope that you will let me hear from you soon."
One evening he announced to Varhely that he was going to the lonely villa of Sainte-Adresse, where they had so many times together watched the sea and talked of their country. "I am going there to be alone, my dear Yanski," he said, "but to be with you is to be with myself. I hope that you will accompany me." "Most certainly," replied Varhely.
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