which clasped his fur pelisse, and handed it to the gypsy, who
regarded it with admiring eyes as it flashed in the red light.

"The day when my father is avenged," he said, "and our Hungary is free,
bring me this jewel, and you and yours come to the castle of the Zilahs.
I will give you a life of peace in memory of this night of mourning."

Already, at a distance, could be heard a rapid fusillade about the
outposts. The Austrians had perhaps perceived the light from the
torches, and were attempting a night attack.

"Extinguish the torches!" cried Yanski Varhely.

The resinous knots hissed as they were thrust into the snow, and the
black, sinister night of winter, with the cries of the wind in the
branches, fell upon the troop of men, ready to die as their chief had
died; and all disappeared vision, phantoms--the Tzigani silently taking
refuge in the sombre forest, while here and there could be heard the
rattle of the ramrods as the honveds loaded their guns.

This January night appeared now to Andras as an almost fantastic dream.
Since then he had erected a mausoleum of marble on the very spot where
Prince Sandor fell; and of all the moments of that romantic, picturesque
war, the agonizing moment, the wild scene of the burial of his father,
was most vivid in his memory--the picture of the warrior stretched in
the snow, his hand on the handle of his sword, remained before his eyes,
imperishable in its melancholy majesty.

CHAPTER V. "MY FATHER WAS A RUSSIAN!"

When the war was over, the Prince roamed sadly for years about
Europe--Europe, which, unmindful of the martyrs, had permitted the
massacre of the vanquished. It was many years before he could accustom
himself to the idea that he had no longer a country. He counted always
upon the future; it was impossible that fate would forever be implacable
to a nation. He often repeated this to Yanski Varhely, who had never
forsaken him--Yanski Varhely, the impoverished old hussar, the ruined
gentleman, now professor of Latin and mathematics at Paris, and living
near the Prince off the product of his lessons and a small remnant he
had managed to save from the wreck of his property.

"Hungary will spring up again, Yanski; Hungary is immortal!" Andras
would exclaim.

"Yes, on one condition," was Varhely's response. "She must arrive at a
comprehension that if she has succumbed, it is because she has committed
faults. All defeats have their geneses. Before the enemy w