, uncle, very happy."

Not far from these two was a little woman, still very pretty, although
of a certain age--the age of embonpoint--a brunette, with very delicate
features, a little sensual mouth, and pretty rosy ears peeping forth
from skilfully arranged masses of black hair. With a plump, dimpled
hand, she held before her myopic eyes a pair of gold-mounted glasses;
and she was speaking to a man of rather stern aspect, with a Slav
physiognomy, a large head, crowned with a mass of crinkly hair as white
as lamb's wool, a long, white moustache, and shoulders as broad as an
ox; a man already old, but with the robust strength of an oak. He
was dressed neither well nor ill, lacking distinction, but without
vulgarity.

"Indeed, my dear Varhely, I am enchanted with this idea of Prince
Andras. I am enjoying myself excessively already, and I intend to enjoy
myself still more. Do you know, this scheme of a breakfast on the water
is simply delightful! Don't you find it so? Oh! do be a little jolly,
Varhely!"

"Do I seem sad, then, Baroness?"

Yanski Varhely, the friend of Prince Andras, was very happy, however,
despite his rather sombre air. He glanced alternately at the little
woman who addressed him, and at Marsa, two very different types of
beauty: Andras's fiancee, slender and pale as a beautiful lily, and
the little Baroness Dinati, round and rosy as a ripe peach. And he
was decidedly pleased with this Marsa Laszlo, against whom he had
instinctively felt some prejudice when Zilah spoke to him for the
first time of marrying her. To make of a Tzigana--for Marsa was half
Tzigana--a Princess Zilah, seemed to Count Varhely a slightly bold
resolution. The brave old soldier had never understood much of the
fantastic caprices of passion, and Andras seemed to him in this, as in
all other things, just a little romantic. But, after all, the Prince
was his own master, and whatever a Zilah did was well done. So, after
reflection, Zilah's marriage became a joy to Varhely, as he had just
been declaring to the fiancee's uncle, General Vogotzine.

Baroness Dinati was therefore wrong to suspect old Yanski Varhely of any
'arriere-pensee'. How was it possible for him not to be enchanted, when
he saw Andras absolutely beaming with happiness?

They were now about to depart, to raise the anchor and glide down the
river along the quays. Already Paul Jacquemin, casting his last leaves
to the page of L'Actualite, was quickly descending the g