two arms were stretched out with the hands clasped; and, falling
upon her knees, she--whose light of reason had been extinguished, who
for so many days had only murmured the sad, singing refrain: "I do not
know; I do not know!"--faltered, in a voice broken with sobs: "Forgive!
Forgive!"

Then her face became livid, and she would have fallen back unconscious
if Zilah had not stooped over and caught her in his arms.

Dr. Sims hastened forward, and, aided by the nurse, relieved him of his
burden.

Poor Vogotzine was as purple as if he had had a stroke of apoplexy.

"But, gentlemen," said the Prince, his eyes burning with hot tears, "it
will be horrible if we have killed her!"

"No, no," responded Fargeas; "we have only killed her stupor. Now leave
her to us. Am I not right, my dear Sims? She can and must be cured!"

CHAPTER XXIX. "LET THE DEAD PAST BURY ITS DEAD"

Prince Andras had heard no news of Varhely for a long time. He only knew
that the Count was in Vienna.

Yanski had told the truth when he said that he had been summoned away by
his friend, Angelo Valla.

They were very much astonished, at the Austrian ministry of foreign
affairs, to see Count Yanski Varhely, who, doubtless, had come from
Paris to ask some favor of the minister. The Austrian diplomats smiled
as they heard the name of the old soldier of '48 and '49. So, the famous
fusion of parties proclaimed in 1875 continued! Every day some sulker of
former times rallied to the standard. Here was this Varhely, who, at one
time, if he had set foot in Austria-Hungary, would have been speedily
cast into the Charles barracks, the jail of political prisoners, now
sending in his card to the minister of the Emperor; and doubtless the
minister and the old commander of hussars would, some evening, together
pledge the new star of Hungary, in a beaker of rosy Crement!

"These are queer days we live in!" thought the Austrian diplomats.

The minister, of whom Yanski Varhely demanded an audience, his
Excellency Count Josef Ladany, had formerly commanded a legion of Magyar
students, greatly feared by the grenadiers of Paskiewisch, in Hungary.
The soldiers of Josef Ladany, after threatening to march upon Vienna,
had many times held in check the grenadiers and Cossacks of the
field-marshal. Spirited and enthusiastic, his fair hair floating above
his youthful forehead like an aureole, Ladany made war like a patriot
and a poet, reciting the verses of Petoefi about