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Well, yes, Count Menko is in Florence or near Florence I don't know where. Marsa told me that without meaning to. She was excited very excited talked to herself. I did not ask her anything but she is insane, you see, mad, mad! She first wrote a despatch to Italy then she tore it up like this, saying: 'No, what is to happen, will happen! There! I don't know anything but that.
Minister Ladany earnestly entreated him to come to the Austrian capital and present, in the salons of Vienna and at the imperial court, Princess Zilah, of whose beauty the Austrian colony of Paris raved. Marsa asked the Prince what the letter contained. "Nothing. An invitation to leave our solitude. We are too happy here."
This was worse than all the rest. How could he punish her? Punish her? Why not? Was not Marsa Laszlo his wife? That villa of Maisons-Lafitte, where she thought herself so safe, was his by law. He, the husband, had a right to enter there at any hour and demand of his wife an account of his honor. "She wished this name of Zilah!
Zilah's clear eye and imperious manner awed the man, and he bowed humbly, not daring to speak. Andras turned on his heel, mounted the steps, and entered the house; then he stopped and listened. She was with him. Yes, a man was there, and the man was speaking, speaking to Marsa, speaking doubtless of love.
Birds, startled by the horses' hoofs, rose here and there out of the bushes, pouring forth their caroling to the clear ether; and Marsa, spurring her thoroughbred, would dash in a mad gallop toward a little, almost unknown grove of oaks, with thickets full of golden furze and pink heather, where woodcutters worked, half buried in the long grass peppered with blue cornflowers and scarlet poppies.
Marsa closed the door behind her; and, before speaking a word, the two faced each other, as if measuring the degree of hardihood each possessed. The Tzigana, opening fire first, said, bravely and without preamble: "Well, you wished to see me. Here I am! What do you want of me?" "To ask you frankly whether it is true, Marsa, that you are about to marry Prince Zilah."
The door of Andras's carriage was open; Marsa entered it, and Andras, with a smile of deep, profound content, seated himself beside her, whispering tenderly in the Tzigana's ear as the carriage drove off: "Ah! how I love you! my beloved, my adored Marsa! How I love you, and how happy I am!"
To this eternal question Marsa made reply, that, for deceiving him by becoming his wife, she would pay with her life. A kiss, then death. In deciding to act a lie, she condemned herself. She only sought to give to her death the appearance of an accident, not wishing to leave to Andras the double memory of a treachery and a crime.
"But if you are suffering, I can not, I will not leave you." "I implore you. I need to be alone." "At least you will permit me to come to-morrow, Marsa, and ask for your answer?" "My answer? I have given it to you." "No! No! I do not accept that refusal. No! you did not know what you were saying.
Her beauty, faded by long, slow sorrow, Tisza found again in her child, a true daughter of Hungary like herself; and, as Marsa grew up, she told her the legends, the songs, the heroism, the martyrdom, of Hungary, picturing to the little girl the great, grassy plain, the free puszta, peopled with a race in whose proud language the word honor recurs again and again.
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