na, instead of by her own name. The Tzigana! This name, as clear cut, resonant and expressive as the czimbaloms of the Hungarian musicians, lent her an additional, original

h white feet, eyes of a peculiar blue, rimmed with yellow, and sensitive, po

were Marsa's companions in her walks; and their submission to their young mistress, whom they could have knocked down with one pat of their paws, gave the Tz

ed with the holy Muscovite icon, which Prince Tchereteff had purchased; and she persisted in remaining there al

distance at the end of the sombre arch formed by the trees. 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

e would suddenly find herself plunged in solitude as in a bath of verdure, shade and oblivion. The sweet silence surrounding her calmed her, and she would walk on and on though the thick grass under the great trees. The trunks of the giant oaks were clothed in robes of emerald moss, and wild flowers of all descriptions raised their heads amid the grass. There was no footstep, no sound; a bee lazily

rs, while Duna and Bundas crouched at her feet, pricking up their ears, and watching these winged denizens of the farmyard, which Marsa forbade them to touch. Finally the Tzigana would slowly wend her way home, enter the villa, sit down before the piano, and play, with ineffable sweetness, like souvenirs of another life, the free and wandering life of her m

ain? Possibly. She had been ill some years before, and had been obliged to pass a winter at Pau. But it seemed rat

sa would shut herself up in the solitude of that death-chamber, which remained just as her mother had le

ablished; those sisters whom she often met in the park, with their full robes of blue cloth, their white veils, a silver medallion and crucifix upon their breasts, and a rosa

st the cold bars of iron, with a longing for deat

s within these walls." Forgetfulness! Marsa, then, wished to forget? What secret tor

ered verses and responses, reached her like the tinkling of far-off chimes, like the rustling

way anguish and hea

Tzigani professing the faith of Rome; and Tisza's daughter could, th

ay in the night like sighs, attracted her, and, like the trees of the forest, gave her a

from the light streaming through the blue and crimson

here is repose? Only in ourselves! It can b

ense hotel, like the Continental or the Grand, dine at the table d'hote, or in the restaurant, seeking everywhere bustle and noise, the antithesis of the life of shade and silence which she led amid the leafy trees of her park. She would show herself everywhere, at races, theatres, partie

asant, compared with the life led by Tis

t once, but again and again. He was, perhaps, since the death of Prince Tchereteff, the only man General

r when Prince Zilah is coming t

her men. He is a hero. In my mother's coun

Count Menko say

all happiness from her mistress's fac

atening. Prince Andras had noticed this same change in the Tz

me and family joys. He was rich, alone in the world, and independent; and he was, therefore, free to choose the woman to be made his princess. No caste prejudice prevented him from giving his title to the daughter of Tisza. The Zilahs, in trying to free their

nts of the deepest love and the most sincere devotion, Andras asked Marsa Laszlo if she would consent to becom

m a Tchereteff this title of princess which Andras offered her, na

timid and with trembling lips, awaiting her reply. But, as s

cried; for Marsa'

rible effort to prevent hers

" exclaimed Andras, "do

clutch the heart of this man, who had never known what it was to

her to be his wife. But had he been deceived? Was it only the soldier in him that had pleased Marsa? Was he about to su

fore him like a statue, pale to the lips, her d

he forced her almost paralyzed tongue to utter a response whi

ev

lness that she longed to throw herself at his feet and c

nd esteem; with an unconquerable attraction toward what represented, to her harassed soul, honor without a blemish, perfect g

omething more than friendship; he was certain of it. Then, why did she command him thus with a single word to despair? "Never!" She was not

e some one

tered

wear to

to control, in the midst of stifled sobs, she told him that if she could ever consent to unite herself to anyone, it would be to him, to him alone, to the hero

ing the word which, in her overstrung co

ed hope. She longed to end this interview which was killing her, and in br

ering, I can not, I

ou. I need t

me to come to-morrow, Mars

I have given

possible to me; all my existence is bound up in yours. You will reflect there was an accent in your voice which bade me hope. I will

nce to which she obstinately, desperately clung. Then, when Andras was gone, at the end of her strength, she threw herself, like a mad woman, down upon the d

happy days! To be his slave, his thing! Shall I marry him? Or-shall I kill myself? Kill myself!" with a horrible, agonizing laugh. "Yes, that is the only thing for me to do. But-but-I am a coward, no