“Willingly,” responded the Japanese, with a low bow.  “To collaborate with Monsieur Jacquemin will be very amusing.”

As Marsa Laszlo was leaving the boat, Michel Menko stood close to the gangway, doubtless on purpose to speak to her; and, in the confusion of landing, without any one hearing him, he breathed in her ear these brief words: 

“At your house this evening.  I must see you.”

She gave him an icy glance.  Michel Menko’s eyes were at once full of tears and flames.

“I demand it!” he said, firmly.

The Tzigana made no reply; but, going to Andras Zilah, she took his arm; while Michel, as if nothing had happened, raised his hat.

General Vogotzine, with flaming face, followed his niece, muttering, as he wiped the perspiration unsteadily from his face: 

“Fine day!  Fine day!  By Jove!  But the sun was hot, though!  Ah, and the wines were good!”

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     Playing checkers, that mimic warfare of old men
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     You suffer?  Is fate so just as that

PRINCE ZILAH

By Jules Claretie

BOOK 2.

CHAPTER XII

A DARK PAGE

As Marsa departed with Vogotzine in the carriage which had been waiting for them on the bank, she waved her hand to Zilah with a passionate gesture, implying an infinity of trouble, sadness, and love.  The Prince then returned to his guests, and the boat, which Marsa watched through the window of the carriage, departed, bearing away the dream, as she had said to Andras.  During the drive home she did not say a word.  By her side the General grumbled sleepily of the sun, which, the Tokay aiding, had affected his head.  But, when Marsa was alone in her chamber, the cry which was wrung from her breast was a cry of sorrow, of despairing anger: 

“Ah, when I think—­when I think that I am envied!”

She regretted having allowed Andras to depart without having told him on the spot, the secret of her life.  She would not see him again until the next day, and she felt as if she could never live through the long, dull hours.  She stood at the window, wrapped in thought, gazing mechanically before her, and still hearing the voice of Michel Menko hissing like a snake in her ear.  What was it this man had said?  She did not dare to believe it.  “I demand it!” He had said:  “I demand it!” Perhaps some one standing near had heard it.  “I demand it!”