all her faith and her belief, had ended, like a

o her? Expiatio

o into Parisian society, slowly forgetting the past, and the folly which she had taken for love little by little faded mistily away. It was like a recovery from an illness, or the disappearance of a nightmare in the dawn of morning. Now, Marsa Laszlo, who, two years before, had longed for annihilation and death, occasionally thought the little Baroness

l, strong and gentle, and who was (she knew it well, the unhappy girl!) the being for whom she was created, the ideal of her dreams. She loved him silently, but with a deep and eternal passion; she loved him without saying to herself that she no longer had any right to lo

hero, her hero, asked he

ove

heart did she put to herself the formidable question: "Hav

hich she remembered only to curse, effaced hours, hours which appeared to her now never to have existed, was she obliged to ruin her life, to break her heart, and, herself the victim, to pay for

peak, a living anachronism in the midst of a society which had faith in nothing except victorious brutalities, and which marched on, crushing, beneath its iron-shod heels, the hopes and visions of the enthusiastic. He recalled those evenings after a battle when, in the woods reddened by the setting sun, his father an

the brutality of triumph and omnipotent pessimism, had preserved their traditions of idealism, chivalry, and faith in the old honor; the Hungarian nationality was also the only one which had conquered its conquerors by its virtues, its persistence in its hopes, its courage, its con

and grovel in all that is low and base. Life is not worth living unless

the fondest love that man could desire. And she, also, thinking of him, felt herself capable of any sacrifice. Who could tell? Perhaps the day would come when it would be necessary to fight again; then she would follow him, and interpose her breast between him and the balls. What happiness to die in sav

ibres of her being, was Andras! Oh, to be free to love him! Marsa's sole hope and thought were now to win, some day, forgiveness for having said nothing by the most absolute devotion that man had ever encountered. Thinking continually these same thoughts, always putting off taking a decision till the morrow, fearing to break both his he

! An

asked herself this question, terr

if, after I became his wife

ld kill me. So much the better!" It was a sort of a bargain which

s to give her life for her love, to belong to Andras, to be the wife of that hero if only for a day, and to die then, to die saying to him: "I was unworthy of you, but I loved you; here, strike!" Or rather to say nothing, to be loved, to take opium or digitalis, and to fall asleep with

t his love. I shall

terfuges by which we voluntarily deceive ourselves, she thought: "He will be consoled for my death, if he ever lear

red little to her, let him do what he would. The young man's threat: "To-morrow night!" returned to her min

ndras and her longing to become his wife, the blood of the Tzigana, her mother, spoke;

e struggle, and worn out, slept till morning

ndering at times if the appearance of Menko and his tomorro

! He is quite capable o

believe that he would dare,

line of blood. The sunlight, filtering through the leaves, flickered upon her dress and clear, dark cheeks, while, near by, a bush of yellow roses flung its fragrance upon the air. The only sound in the garden was the gentle rustle of the trees, which recalled to her the distant murmur of the sea. Gradually sh

ch of the trees, where luminous insects, white and flame-colored butterflies, aimlessly chased one another, Marsa half slumbered in a sort of voluptuous oblivion, a happy calm, in that species of nirvana w

ots, bearing her monogram in silver upon the instep. It was a short visit, made up of the chatter and gossip of Paris. Little Jacquemin's article upon Prince Zilah's nautical fete had created a furore. That little Jacquemin was a charming fellow; Mar

e break my neck when I entered the carriage; but they are something new. They attract attention.

a cake, and then hastily departed just as Prince Andras's carriage stopped be

u have to-day something pleasanter to do than t

e loved and protected. She gave herself up to boundless hopes-she, who had before her, perhaps, only a few days of life. She felt per

dear Marsa, when I used to feel sad and discouraged, I wondered whether my life lay behind me. But I was longing for you, th

ed upon her face with a lo

you had not foun

to drag out a weary exi

ld him of

ence upon her love. To drag aside the veil from his illusion would be like tearing away the bandages from a wound. Decidedly, the resolution she had taken was the

, she would pay with her life. A kiss, then death. In deciding to act a lie, she condemned herself. She only sought to giv

their common existence. She listened as if her resolution to die had not been

ving come to Maisons by the railway. The Tzigana's Danish hounds went wi

ed Vogotzine. "I have rarely seen suc

at depends!

otzine. She saw Andras depart with a mournful sadness, and a sudden longing to

hed home. Marsa ate but little at dinner,

, as usual, to bid his

n the divan in

l well? What i

thi

ing to bed. You don't care to have m

times he addressed her with timid respect; but

remain alone,

, took Marsa's delicate hand in his, and kiss

e than an hour. Then she started suddenly, hea

t out by a back door which was used by the

movement, like that of a somnambulist, and proceeded to the kennel, where the great D

tog! Silen

voice, the noise cea

s of the dogs, as they placed their paws upon her shoulders. Then she

G

, and with the Muscovite indifference which her father, Prince Tchereteff, might have displayed when ordering a spy or a traitor to be shot, she retraced her step

rince Zilah's fianc