age,
and, seated upon the divan, he held both Marsa's hands in his, as she
stood before him.

"My best wishes, Princess!" he said. "Princess! Princess Zilah! That name
never sounded so sweet in my ears before! My wife! My dear and cherished
wife!" As she listened to the music of the voice she loved, Marsa said to
herself, that sweet indeed was life, which, after so many trials, still
had in reserve for her such joys. And so deep was her happiness, that she
wished everything could end now in a beautiful dream which should have no
awakening.

"We will depart for Paris whenever you like," said the Prince.

"Yes," she exclaimed, sinking to his feet, and throwing her arms about
his neck as he bent over her, "let us leave this house; take me away,
take me away, and let a new life begin for me, the life I have longed for
with you and your love!"

There was something like terror in her words, and in the way she clung to
this man who was her hero. When she said "Let us leave this house," she
thought, with a shudder, of all her cruel suffering, of all that she
hated and which had weighed upon her like a nightmare. She thirsted for a
different air, where no phantom of the past could pursue her, where she
should feel free, where her life should belong entirely to him.

"I will go and take off this gown," she murmured, rising, "and we will
run away like two eloping lovers."

"Take off that gown? Why? It would be such a pity! You are so lovely as
you are!"

"Well," said Marsa, glancing down upon him with an almost mutinous smile,
which lent a peculiar charm to her beauty, "I will not change this white
gown, then; a mantle thrown over it will do. And you will take your wife
in her bridal dress to Paris, my Prince, my hero--my husband!"

He rose, threw his arms about her, and, holding her close to his heart,
pressed one long, silent kiss upon the exquisite lips of his beautiful
Tzigana.

She gently disengaged herself from his embrace, with a shivering sigh;
and, going slowly toward the door, she turned, and threw him a kiss,
saying:

"I will come back soon, my Andras!"

And, although wishing to go for her mantle, nevertheless she still stood
there, with her eyes fixed upon the Prince and her mouth sweetly
tremulous with a passion of feeling, as if she could not tear herself
away.

The piano upon which Andras had cast the package given him by Varhely was
there between them; and the Prince advanced a step or two, leaning