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Zilah nevertheless remained very rich, and was an imposing figure in Paris, where, some years before, after long journeyings, he had taken up his abode.
Accompanying the Prince were Yanski Varhely, and an Italian friend of Zilah's, Angelo Valla, a former minister of the Republic of Venice, in the time of Manin. Andras Zilah, proud and happy, appeared to have hardly passed his thirtieth year; a ray of youth animated his clear eyes.
Then, as the director of the establishment approached to speak, he placed a finger upon his lips: "Hush," he said. "She is there! Don't speak, or she will go away." And he pointed with a sort of passionate veneration to an elm where Vivian was shut up, and whence she would shortly emerge. "Poor devil!" murmured Vogotzine. This was not what Zilah thought, however.
And, folding the paper, with the passage which concerned him uppermost, he handed it to the secretary. Fremin glanced at the article. "Yes, I have seen this paragraph," he said; "but I am entirely ignorant to whom it alludes. I am not even certain that it is not a fabrication, invented out of whole cloth." "Ah!" said Zilah. "The author of the article would know, I suppose?"
Frankly, in accents of the deepest love and the most sincere devotion, Andras asked Marsa Laszlo if she would consent to become his wife. But he was terrified at the expression of anguish which passed over the pale face of the young girl. Marsa, Princess Zilah!
"Oh! it is indeed he, Monsieur," she said again, while Zilah watched her and listened in silence. "I don't like to have him use pseudonyms, as he calls them. It gives me so much pleasure to see his real name, which is mine too, printed in full. Only it seems that it is better sometimes. Puck makes people curious, and they say, Who can it be?
Zilah knew the name well, having seen it at the end of a report of his river fete; but he hardly thought Jacquemin could be so well informed.
No, for him! She was not vile enough to have lied, when she asked, implored, besought death from Zilah who held her life or death in his hands. "Yes, I had the right to kill her, but I have the right to pardon also," thought Zilah. Ah, if Menko were dead!
When they asked what name should be attached to so princely a gift, Marsa replied: "That which was my mother's and which is mine, The Tzigana." More than ever now did she cling to that cognomen of which she was so proud. "And," she said to Zilah, after she had finished the recital of her story, "it is because I am thus named that I have the right to speak to you of yourself."
The General had not energy enough to demand an explanation; and he bowed, saying that it was certainly not his business to interfere; but he noticed that Zilah turned very pale when he told him that it would be a miracle if Marsa recovered from the fever. "It is pitiful!" he said. Zilah cast a strange look at him, severe and yet terrified. Vogotzine said no more; but he went at once to Dr.
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