The other stood stock-still in amazement, trying to see, through the darkness, the Prince's face.
"Do you hear me?" demanded Andras.
And, as the domestic opened the gate, as if to observe the appearance of the visitor, the Prince gave it a nervous push, which threw the servant backward; and, once within the garden, he came close to him, and said:
"Look well at me, in order that you may recognize me again. I am master here."
Zilah's clear eye and imperious manner awed the man, and he bowed humbly, not daring to speak.
Andras turned on his heel, mounted the steps, and entered the house; then he stopped and listened.
She was with him. Yes, a man was there, and the man was speaking, speaking to Marsa, speaking doubtless of love.
Menko, with his twisted moustache, his pretty smile and his delicate profile, was there, behind that door. A red streak of light from the salon where Marsa was showed beneath the door, which the Prince longed to burst open with his foot. With anger and bitterness filling his heart, he felt capable of entering there, and striking savagely, madly, at his rival.
How these two beings had played with him; the woman who had lied to him, and the coward who had sent him those letters.
Suddenly Marsa's voice fell upon his ear, that rich, contralto voice he knew so well, speaking in accents of love or joy.