He entered the carriage and made his momentous announcement in the best approach to Croat speech that he could achieve.

“The train has broken away and left us!”

The woman shook her head with a movement that might be intended to convey resignation to the will of heaven, but probably meant noncomprehension.  Abbleway repeated his information with variations of Slavonic tongues and generous displays of pantomime.

“Ah,” said the woman at last in German dialect, “the train has gone?  We are left.  Ah, so.”

She seemed about as much interested as though Abbleway had told her the result of the municipal elections in Amsterdam.

“They will find out at some station, and when the line is clear of snow they will send an engine.  It happens that way sometimes.”

“We may be here all night!” exclaimed Abbleway.

The woman nodded as though she thought it possible.

“Are there wolves in these parts?” asked Abbleway hurriedly.

“Many,” said the woman; “just outside this forest my aunt was devoured three years ago, as she was coming home from market.  The horse and a young pig that was in the cart were eaten too.  The horse was a very old one, but it was a beautiful young pig, oh, so fat.  I cried when I heard that it was taken.  They spare nothing.”

“They may attack us here,” said Abbleway tremulously; “they could easily break in, these carriages are like matchwood.  We may both be devoured.”

“You, perhaps,” said the woman calmly; “not me.”

“Why not you?” demanded Abbleway.

“It is the day of Saint Maria Kleopha, my name-day.  She would not allow me to be eaten by wolves on her day.  Such a thing could not be thought of.  You, yes, but not me.”

Abbleway changed the subject.

“It is only afternoon now; if we are to be left here till morning we shall be starving.”

“I have here some good eatables,” said the woman tranquilly; “on my festival day it is natural that I should have provision with me.  I have five good blood-sausages; in the town shops they cost twenty-five heller each.  Things are dear in the town shops.”

“I will give you fifty heller apiece for a couple of them,” said Abbleway with some enthusiasm.

“In a railway accident things become very dear,” said the woman; “these blood-sausages are four kronen apiece.”

“Four kronen!” exclaimed Abbleway; “four kronen for a blood-sausage!”

“You cannot get them any cheaper on this train,” said the woman, with relentless logic, “because there aren’t any others to get.  In Agram you can buy them cheaper, and in Paradise no doubt they will be given to us for nothing, but here they cost four kronen each.  I have a small piece of Emmenthaler cheese and a honey-cake and a piece of bread that I can let you have.  That will be another three kronen, eleven kronen in all.  There is a piece of ham, but that I cannot let you have on my name-day.”