“We are wasting time gazing at each other like two sheep in a pasture.  Will you sell the girl?” the horseman asked, impatiently.

“I will nod!” she answered, with proud defiance.

“Then I will take her by force!”

“Ah!  What could nod ze monkey do, if he were alzo ze lion!”

“I am the lion, and therefore I must have this lamb!”

“Muz?  Say muz to ze clouds; to ze winz; to ze lightningz; but not to Chicarona!”

“If you do not agree to accept a fair offer for this girl, you will be in jail for kidnapping her in less than one hour!”

At this threat, the brilliant black eyes emitted a shower of angry sparks, and she exclaimed in derision, “Ze Buzno will dake us do brizon, ha! ha! ha!”

“Ze Buzno will dake us do brizon, hee! hee! hee!” giggled the little impish child who tugged at her skirts.

The old woman pressed forward and mumbled, “‘Ol’ oud your ‘an’, my pretty fellow.  Crozz ze ol’ gypsy’s palm, and zhe will dell your fortune.”

With every new refusal, the resolute stranger became still more determined.  “Pearls are not to be had without a plunge,” he murmured to himself, and dismounted.

Throwing the bridle of his horse over the limb of a tree, he approached the woman with a threatening gesture.

As he did so, the three female figures began to revolve around him in a circle, pointing their fingers at him and hissing like vipers.  As the old woman passed before his face she threw a handful of snuff in his eyes—­an act which has been, from time immemorial, the female gypsy’s last resort.

Had he been less agile than he was, it would have proved a finishing stroke, but there are some animals that can never be caught asleep, or even napping, and he was one.  He winked and dodged, and, quicker than a flash, brought the old crone a sharp cut across her knuckles with his riding whip.

As he did so, Baltasar sprang at his throat, but he once more drew his pistol and leveled it at the gypsy’s head.  His patience had been exhausted.

“Fool!” he cried, “Bring this woman to reason.  This is a wild country, and a family of gypsies would be missed as little as a litter of blind puppies!  Bring her to reason, I say, or I will murder every one of you!”

Once more shrugging those expressive shoulders which seemed to have a language of their own, the gypsy said “Chicarona, you do not luf ze leedle pindarri.  Zell ’er to ze Buzno.  Ee eez made of gol’.”

As Baltasar uttered these words, he approached his wife and whispered something in her ear at which she started.  Turning with a sudden motion to the stranger, she fixed her piercing eyes upon him and exclaimed, “You zay you know ze parenz of zis chil’?”

“I do.”

“You lie!”

“How, then, did I know that you had stolen her?”

“You guezz zat!  Any vool gan guezz zat!  I zdole ’er, but who I zdole ’er vrom, you do not know any more zan you know why ze frogs zdop zinging when ze light zhines.”