“You are right to love me a little,” he said, brusquely, “because I am very fond of you—of both of you,” nodding his head toward Marsa. “But no respect, please. That makes me out too old.”
The Tzigana, taking Vogotzine’s arm, led him gently toward the door, a little alarmed at the purple hue of the General’s cheeks and forehead. “Come, take a little fresh air,” she said to the old soldier, who regarded her with round, expressionless eyes.
As they disappeared in the garden, Varhely drew from his pocket the little package given to him by Menko’s valet.
“Here is something from another friend! It was brought to me at the door of the church.”
“Ah! I thought that Menko would send me some word of congratulation,” said Andras, after he had read upon the envelope the young Count’s signature. “Thanks, my dear Varhely.”
“Now,” said Yanski, “may happiness attend you, Andras! I hope that you will let me hear from you soon.”
Zilah took the hand which Varhely extended, and clasped it warmly in both his own.
Upon the steps Varhely found Marsa, who, in her turn, shook his hand.
“Au revoir, Count.”
“Au revoir, Princess.”