This etext was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>
[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of thefile for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making anentire meal of them. D.W.]
By JULES CLARETIE
As Marsa departed with Vogotzine in the carriage which had been waitingfor them on the bank, she waved her hand to Zilah with a passionategesture, implying an infinity of trouble, sadness, and love. The Princethen returned to his guests, and the boat, which Marsa watched throughthe window of the carriage, departed, bearing away the dream, as she hadsaid to Andras. During the drive home she did not say a word. By herside the General grumbled sleepily of the sun, which, the Tokay aiding,had affected his head. But, when Marsa was alone in her chamber, the crywhich was wrung from her breast was a cry of sorrow, of despairing anger:
"Ah, when I think—when I think that I am envied!"
She regretted having allowed Andras to depart without having told him onthe spot, the secret of her life. She would not see him again until thenext day, and she felt as if she could never live through the long, dullhours. She stood at the window, wrapped in thought, gazing mechanicallybefore her, and still hearing the voice of Michel Menko hissing like asnake in her ear. What was it this man had said? She did not dare tobelieve it. "I demand it!" He had said: "I demand it!" Perhaps someone standing near had heard it. "I demand it!"
Evening came. Below the window the great masses of the chestnut-treesand the lofty crests of the poplars waved in the breeze like forestplumes, their peaks touched by the sun setting in a sky of tender blue,while the shadowy twilight crept over the park where, through thebranches, patches of yellow light, like golden and copper vapors, stillgave evidence of the god of day.
Marsa, her heart full of a melancholy which the twilight increased,repeated over and over again, with shudders of rage and disgust, thosethree words which Michel Menko had hurled at her like a threat: "I demandit!" Suddenly she heard in the garden the baying of dogs, and she saw,held in check by a domestic, Duna and Bundas, bounding through the massesof flowers toward the gate, where a man appeared, whom Marsa, leaningover the balcony, recognized at once.
"The wretch!" she exclaimed between her clenched teeth. It was Menko.
He must have debarked before reaching Paris, and have come to Maisons-
Lafitte in haste.
Marsa's only thought, in the first moment of anger, was to refuse to seehim. "I can not," she thought, "I will not!" Then suddenly her mindchanged. It was braver and more worthy of her to meet the danger face toface. She rang, and said to the domestic who answered the bell: "ShowCount Menko into the little salon."
"We shall see what he will dare," muttered the Tzigana, glancing at themirror as if to see whether she appeared to tremble before danger and anenemy.
The little salon into which the young Count was introduced was in theleft wing of the villa; and it was Marsa's favorite room, because it wasso quiet there. She had furnished it with rare taste, in half Byzantineand half Hindoo fashion—a long divan running along the wall, coveredwith gray silk striped with garnet; Persian rugs cast here and there atrandom; paintings by Petenkofen—Hungarian farms and battle-