t beloved land
something already seen, like a vivid memory of a previous existence.

And yet, upon the grave of the martyr, Marsa prayed also for the
executioner. She remembered that the one who reposed in the cemetery of
Pere-Lachaise, beneath a tomb in the shape of a Russian dome, was her
father, as the Tzigana, interred in Hungary, was her mother; and she
asked in her prayer, that these two beings, separated in life, should
pardon each other in the unknown, obscure place of departed souls.

So Marsa Laszlo was left alone in the world. She returned to France,
which she had become attached to, and shut herself up in the villa of
Maisons-Lafitte, letting old Vogotzine install himself there as a sort
of Mentor, more obedient than a servant, and as silent as a statue;
and this strange guardian, who had formerly fought side by side with
Schamyl, and cut down the Circassians with the sang-froid of a butcher's
boy wringing the neck of a fowl, and who now scarcely dared to open his
lips, as if the entire police force of the Czar had its eye upon him;
this old soldier, who once cared nothing for privations, now, provided
he had his chocolate in the morning, his kummel with his coffee at
breakfast, and a bottle of brandy on the table all day--left Marsa free
to think, act, come and go as she pleased.

She had accepted the Prince's legacy, but with this mental reservation
and condition, that the Hungarian colony of Paris should receive half of
it. It seemed to her that the money thus given to succor the compatriots
of her mother would be her father's atonement. She waited, therefore,
until she had attained her majority; and then she sent this enormous sum
to the Hungarian aid society, saying that the donor requested that
part of the amount should be used in rebuilding the little village
in Transylvania which had been burned twenty years before by Russian
troops. 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."

Prince Andras listened with passionate attention to the beautiful girl,
thus evoking for him the past, confident and even happy to speak and
make herself known to the man whose life of heroic