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.