telegraphed to Marsa,
arranging a meeting with her. That very evening he was to be in the house
of Marsa Laszlo--Marsa who bore, in spite of all, the title and name of
the Zilahs. Was it possible? After the marriage, after this woman's vows
and tears, these two beings, separated for a time, were to be united
again. And he, Andras, had almost felt pity for her! He had listened to
Varhely, an honest man; drawing a parallel between a vanquished soldier
and this fallen girl--Varhely, the rough, implacable Varhely, who had
also been the dupe of the Tzigana, and one evening at Sainte-Adresse had
even counselled the deceived husband to pardon her.

In a state bordering on frenzy, Zilah returned to his hotel, thinking:

"He will be with her this evening!"

This was worse than all the rest. How could he punish her?

Punish her?

Why not? Was not Marsa Laszlo his wife? That villa of Maisons-Lafitte,
where she thought herself so safe, was his by law. He, the husband, had a
right to enter there at any hour and demand of his wife an account of his
honor.

"She wished this name of Zilah! Well! she shall know at least what it
costs and what it imposes upon her!" he hissed through his clenched
teeth. He walked nervously to and fro in the library of his hotel, his
excitement increasing at every step.

"She is Princess Zilah! She--a princess! Nothing can wrest from her that
title which she has stolen! Princess be it, then; but the Prince has the
right to deal out life or death to his wife--to his wife and to the lover
of his wife!" with a spasmodic burst of laughter. "Her lover is to be
there; Menko is to be there, and I complain! The man whom I have sought
in vain will be before me. I shall hold him at my mercy, and I do not
thank the kind fate which gives me that joy! This evening! He will be at
her house this evening! Good! Justice shall be done!"

Every moment added to his fever. He would have given ten years of his
life if it were already evening. He waited impatiently for the hour to
come when he could go and surprise them. He even thought of meeting Menko
at the railway station on his arrival from Italy: but what would be the
use? Menko would be at Maisons; and he would kill him before her face, in
a duel if Menko would fight, or like a thief caught in the act if he
attempted to fly. That would be better. Yes, he would kill him like a
dog, if the other--but no! The Hungarian, struck in the presence of the
Tzigana, would c