ed
the castle; and, when she went to Moscow, she hastened to return to her
mother. The very gayeties of that noisy city weighed upon her heart; for
she never forgot the war-tales of the Tzigana, and, perhaps, among the
passers-by was the wretch who had shot down her grandfather, old Mihal.

The Tzigana cultivated, with a sort of passion, a love of far-off
Hungary and a hatred for the master in the impressionable mind of her
daughter. There is a Servian proverb which says, that when a Wallachian
has crossed the threshold the whole house becomes Wallachian. Tisza did
not wish the house to become Hungarian; but she did wish that the child
of her loins should be and should remain Hungarian.

The servants of Prince Tchereteff never spoke of their mistress except
as The Tzigana, and this was the name which Marsa wished to bear also.
It seemed to her like a title of nobility.

And the years passed without the Tzigana pardoning the Russian, and
without Marsa ever having called him father.

In the name of their child, the Prince one day solemnly asked Tisza
Laszlo to consent to become his wife, and the mother refused.

"But our daughter?" said the Prince.

"My daughter? She will bear the name of her mother, which at least is
not a Russian name."

The Prince was silenced.

As Marsa grew up, Moscow became displeasing to the Prince. He had his
daughter educated as if she were destined to be the Czarina. He summoned
to the castle a small army of instructors, professors of music and
singing; French, English, and German masters, drawing masters, etc.,
etc. The young girl, with the prodigious power of assimilation peculiar
to her race, learned everything, loving knowledge for its own sake,
but, nevertheless, always deeply moved by the history of that unknown
country, which was that of her mother, and even her own, the land of
her heart and her soul-Hungary. She knew, from her mother, about all its
heroes: Klapka, Georgei, Dembiski; Bem, the conqueror of Buda; Kossuth,
the dreamer of a sort of feudal liberty; and those chivalrous Zilah
princes, father and son, the fallen martyr and the living hero.

Prince Tchereteff, French in education and sentiment, wished to take to
France the child, who did not bear his name, but whom he adored. France
also exercised a powerful fascination over Marsa's imagination; and she
departed joyously for Paris, accompanied by the Tzigana, her mother, who
felt like a prisoner set at liberty. To quit