eyes, and her cheeks became pale as marble, while her gaze was fixed upon
a tall young man who was crossing the salon and coming toward her.

Instinctively Andras Zilah followed her look. Michel Menko was advancing
to salute Marsa Laszlo, and take with affectionate respect the hand which
Andras extended to him.

Marsa coldly returned the low bow of the young man, and took no part in
the conversation which followed. Menko remained but a few moments,
evidently embarrassed at his reception; and after his departure, Zilah,
who had noticed the Tzigana's coldness, asked her if she knew his friend.

"Very well," she said, in a peculiar tone.

"It would be difficult to imagine so from the way in which you received
him," said Andras, laughing. "Poor Michel! Have you any reason to be
angry with him?"

"None."

"I like him very much. He is a charming boy, and his father was one of
my companions in arms. I have been almost a guardian to his son. We are
kinsmen, and when the young count entered diplomacy he asked my advice,
as he hesitated to serve Austria. I told him that, after having fought
Austria with the sword, it was our duty to absorb it by our talents and
devotion. Was I not right? Austria is to-day subservient to Hungary,
and, when Vienna acts, Vienna glances toward Pesth to see if the Magyars
are satisfied. Michel Menko has therefore served his country well; and I
don't understand why he gave up diplomacy. He makes me uneasy: he seems
to me, like all young men of his generation, a little too undecided what