type, with heavy reddish moustaches streaked with
gray, and an apoplectic neck, stood by her side, buttoned up in his
frock-coat as in a military uniform.

Every now and then, leaning over and brushing with his moustaches her
delicate white ear, he would ask:

"Are you happy, Marsa?"

And Marsa would answer with a smile ending in a sigh, as she vaguely
contemplated the scene before her:

"Yes, uncle, very happy."

Not far from these two was a little woman, still very pretty, although of
a certain age--the age of embonpoint--a brunette, with very delicate
features, a little sensual mouth, and pretty rosy ears peeping forth from
skilfully arranged masses of black hair. With a plump, dimpled hand, she
held before her myopic eyes a pair of gold-mounted glasses; and she was
speaking to a man of rather stern aspect, with a Slav physiognomy, a
large head, crowned with a mass of crinkly hair as white as lamb's wool,
a long, white moustache, and shoulders as broad as an ox; a man already
old, but with the robust strength of an oak. He was dressed neither well
nor ill, lacking distinction, but without vulgarity.

"Indeed, my dear Varhely, I am enchanted with this idea of Prince Andras.
I am enjoying myself excessively already, and I intend to enjoy myself
still more. Do you know, this scheme of a breakfast on the water is
simply delightful! Don't you find it so? Oh! do be a little jolly,
Varhely!"

"Do I seem sad, then, Baroness?"

Yanski Varhely, the friend of Prince Andras, was very happy, however,
despite his rather sombre air. He glanced alternately at the little woman
who addressed him, and at Marsa, two very different types of beauty:
Andras's fiancee, slender and pale as a beautiful lily, and the little
Baroness Dinati, round and rosy as a ripe peach. And he was decidedly
pleased with this Marsa Laszlo, against whom he had instinctively felt
some prejudice when Zilah spoke to him for the first time of marrying
her. To make of a Tzigana--for Marsa was half Tzigana--a Princess Zilah,
seemed to Count Varhely a slightly bold resolution. The brave old soldier
had never understood much of the fantastic caprices of passion, and
Andras seemed to him in this, as in all other things, just a little
romantic. But, after all, the Prince was his own master, and whatever a
Zilah did was well done. So, after reflection, Zilah's marriage became a
joy to Varhely, as he had just been declaring to the fiancee's uncle,
General Vogotz