"Not yet?" said Francis, with a rough grasp of her hand; "but soon? to-day?"
"If all goes as it should, perhaps," was the answer.
"Then I must have patience, however little I am used to it; so let us, in the mean time, have a friendly chat together. You are so sparing of words. I only wish your tongue had half the nimbleness of your feet."
"I am not fond of talking," replied the gipsy with cutting coldness; "there is little pleasure in it."
"And yet you are a woman," cried Francis, merrily. "For Heaven's sake, how could you have so degenerated? Only think, if every one were to be as you are, what a poor sort of entertainment we should have in the world."
"The world would gain by it," retorted the mask. "How much foolish, how much evil, talk would be spared! How much falsehood and deceit! How much perjury!"
"Oh, this is dull gossip," exclaimed Francis, struck by her words. "Rather tell me my fortune; you have visited us as a gipsy, and should keep up the character."
"Do not ask it," she replied, in a warning tone: "you might hear something that would not please you."
"Yes, if I were fool enough to believe such nonsense. Prophesy away, and be it at my peril. Here is my hand."
The gipsy hastily seized it. Her bosom heaved violently, and her eyes darted piercing looks from out the mask.--At length she said, "These lines do not please me; you are like to use your sword this very day."