"See," she said.

Andras felt a sudden pang, which yet was not altogether pain, dart
through his heart, and his eyes wandered questioningly from the buckle to
Marsa's face. Smiling, but her beautiful lips mute, Marsa seemed to say
to him: "Yes, it is the agraffe which you detached from your soldier's
pelisse and gave to an unknown Tzigana near your father's grave."

The silver ornament, incrusted with opals, recalled sharply to Prince
Zilah that sad January night when the dead warrior had been laid in his
last resting-place. He saw again the sombre spot, the snowy fir-trees,
the black trench, and the broad, red reflections of the torches, which,
throwing a flickering light upon the dead, seemed to reanimate the pale,
cold face.

And that daughter of the wandering musicians who had, at the open grave,
played as a dirge, or, rather, as a ringing hymn of resurrection and
deliverance, the chant of the fatherland-that dark girl to whom he had
said: "Bring me this jewel, and come and live in peace with the Zilahs"
--was the mother of this beautiful, fascinating creature, whose every
word, since he had first met her a few hours before, had exercised such a
powerful effect upon him.

"So," he said, slowly, with a sad smile, "your mother's talisman was
worth more than mine. I have kept the lake pebbles she gave me, and
death has passed me by; but the opals of the agraffe did not bring
happiness to your mother. It is said that those stones are unlucky.
Are you superstitious?"