‘Who knocks?’ said a shrill voice.
‘Tsa tshen pal!’[5] was Benoit’s reply.
The tongue in which he spoke was unintelligible to Louise, but the words seemed to reassure the occupant of the room, who at once proceeded to withdraw two heavy bolts, and gave admittance to Benoit and his companion.
The person who opened the door now stood before them. He was a slender well-proportioned man, in a close-fitting doublet and chausses of black serge. The sharp and angular features, the saffron complexion, and large filmy black eye, showed the real gipsy blood. He looked at Louise with a strange fixed stare, but it was impossible to read anything in the gaze, either of astonishment or alarm.
‘Who is she?’ he asked shortly of Benoit, in the gipsy tongue.
‘A sister of mine,’ replied the Languedocian. ‘She needs shelter and concealment for a while.’
‘She cannot have them here,’ was the answer.
‘By the morro[6] and the lon[7] she must,’ said Benoit calmly.
The man pointed to an inner door, and said—
‘There is a ranee[8] there already confided to my safe keeping. What does your sister fear, that she comes here for safety?’