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Updated: May 18, 2025
"Now," said Zilah, "be so kind, my dear Varhely, as to have this note sent to Monsieur Puck, at the office of 'L'Actualite' and ask your domestic to purchase some toys, whatever he likes here is the money and take them to Madame Jacquemin, No. 25 Rue Rochechouart. Three toys, because there are three children. The poor little things will have gained so much, at all events, from this occurrence."
All over now! Ah! Ah! We no longer cut one another's throats! No! No! No longer cut one another's throats!" He held out to Andras his big, fat hand, and repeated, as he shook that of the Prince: "Delighted! Enchanted! Prince Zilah! Yes! Yes!" In another moment they were gone, and the evening seemed to Andras like a vision, a beautiful, feverish dream.
She went into the bathroom and soused her head in cold water. When she came back a frightened Zilah was putting a small tray on the brass-topped table by the bed. "M'seiur Gaston," she stammered, almost crying.
She passed the paper silently through the curtains and went back to her lunch. When she sent Zilah away with the empty tray she rescued the Vicomte de Saint Hubert's book from the floor where she had thrown it and tried to read it dispassionately. She turned to the title-page and studied the pencilled scrawl "Souvenir de Raoul" closely.
"I have only one objection to make to this marriage," said Varhely; "it should have taken place sooner." But a man can not command his heart to love at a given hour. When very young, Andras Zilah had cared for scarcely anything but his country; and, far from her, in the bitterness of exile, he had returned to the passion of his youth, living in Paris only upon memories of his Hungary.
When he offered his name and his life to Maria Theresa, one of the Zilah princes had said proudly to the Empress: "You demand of the Hungarians gold, they bring you steel. The gold was to nourish your courtiers, the steel will be to save your crown. Forward!"
Well! she shall know at least what it costs and what it imposes upon her!" he hissed through his clenched teeth. He walked nervously to and fro in the library of his hotel, his excitement increasing at every step. "She is Princess Zilah! She a princess! Nothing can wrest from her that title which she has stolen!
"What remains to you if she dies?" said old Yanski, slowly. "There remains to you what you had at twenty years, that which never dies. There remains to you what was the love and the passion of all the Zilah princes who lie yonder, and who experienced the same suffering, the same torture, the same despair, as you. There remains to you our first love, my dear Andras, the fatherland!"
Because this Monsieur how does he sign himself? Puck had nothing else to write about." "It is certainly absurd," remarked Zilah, "to imagine that a man can live in the ideal. At every step the reality splashes you with mud." As he spoke, he moved toward the door. "Where are you going?" asked Varhely again. "To the office of this journal." "Do not commit such an imprudence.
A reporter has no right to make a bear of himself!" "Don't disturb him, if he cares for his home now," said Zilah, gravely. "Nothing can compensate for one's own fireside, if one loves and is loved." At the first words of the Prince, the Baroness suddenly became serious. "I beg your pardon," she said, dropping his arm and holding out her tiny hand: "please forgive me for having annoyed you.
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