word of pardon. It could not be possible
that her existence was to end with the malediction of this man. It seemed
to her, that, if she should ever see him face to face, she would find
words of desperate supplication which would obtain her absolution.

Certainly--she repented it bitterly every hour, now that the punishment
of thinking and feeling had been inflicted upon her--she had acted
infamously, been almost as criminal as Menko, by her silence and
deceit--her deceit! She, who hated a lie! But she longed to make the
Prince understand that the motive of her conduct was the love which she
had for him. Yes, her love alone! There was no other reason, no other,
for her unpardonable treachery. He did not think it now, without any
doubt. He must accuse her of some base calculation or vile intrigue. But
she was certain that, if she could see him again, she would prove to him
that the only cause of her conduct was her unquenchable love for him.

"Let him only believe that, and then let him fly me forever, if he likes!
Forever! But I cannot endure to have him despise me, as he must!"

It was this hope which now attached her to life. After her return to
Maisons-Lafitte from Vaugirard, she would have killed herself if she had
not so desired another interview where she could lay bare her heart. Not
daring to appear before Andras, not even thinking of such a thing as
seeking him, she resolved to wait some opportunity, some chance, she knew
not what. Suddenly, she thought of Yanski Varhely. Through Varhely, she
might be able to say to Andras all that she wished her husband--her
husband! the very word made her shudder with shame--to know of the reason
of her crime. She wrote to the old Hungarian; but, as she received no
response, she left Maisons-Lafitte and went to Varhely's house. They did
not know there, where the Count was; but Monsieur Angelo Valla would
forward any letters to him.

She then begged the Italian to send to Varhely a sort of long confession,
in which she asked his aid to obtain from the Prince the desired
interview.

The letter reached Yanski while he was at Vienna. He answered it with a
few icy words; but what did that matter to Marsa? It was not Varhely's
rancor she cared for, but Zilah's contempt. She implored him again, in a
letter in which she poured out her whole soul, to return, to be there
when she should tell the Prince all her remorse--the remorse which was
killing her, and making of her detested be