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Updated: June 29, 2025


I am here, above all, to demand satisfaction for your atrocious action in having taken me as the instrument of your villainy." "I regret it deeply and sincerely," replied Menko; "and I am at your orders." The tone of this response admitted of no reply, and Yanski and Valla took their departure.

He was no longer the same man. His handsome face, with its kindly eyes and grave smile, was now constantly overshadowed. He spoke less, and thought more. On the subject of his sadness and his grief, Andras never uttered a word to any one, not even to his old friend; and Yanski, silent from the day when he had been an unconscious messenger of ill, had not once made any allusion to the past.

"Do I seem sad, then, Baroness?" Yanski Varhely, the friend of Prince Andras, was very happy, however, despite his rather sombre air. He glanced alternately at the little woman who addressed him, and at Marsa, two very different types of beauty: Andras's fiancee, slender and pale as a beautiful lily, and the little Baroness Dinati, round and rosy as a ripe peach.

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.

"No, to Vienna," replied Yanski, who looked somewhat paler than usual. "What an idea! What are you going to do there, Varhely?" "Angelo Valla arrived yesterday at Havre. He sent for me to come to his hotel this morning. I have just been there. Valla has given me some information in regard to a matter of interest to myself, which will require my presence at Vienna. So I am going there."

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.

"No, no," responded Fargeas; "we have only killed her stupor. Now leave her to us. Am I not right, my dear Sims? She can and must be cured!" Prince Andras had heard no news of Varhely for a long time. He only knew that the Count was in Vienna. Yanski had told the truth when he said that he had been summoned away by his friend, Angelo Valla.

"After all," he said to himself, "we shall soon find out. Monsieur Puck must be less difficult to unearth than Michel Menko." He rang for his valet, and was about to go out, when Yanski Varhely was announced. The old Hungarian looked troubled, and his brows were contracted in a frown.

Yanski had been right to remain till the last: it was his hand which the Prince wished to press before his departure, as if Varhely had been his relative, and the sole surviving one. "Now," he said to him, "you have no longer only a brother, my dear Varhely; you have also a sister who loves and respects you as I love and respect you myself."

Upon my word of honor, I believe that, if you should refuse him, he would commit some folly, some madness, something fatal. Do you understand?" "Ah!" ejaculated Marsa, with an icy chill in her veins. "That is my opinion," continued Yanski, harshly. "He is wounded. It remains with you to decide whether the bullet be mortal or not."

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