Thereupon Paùna took her lover by the shoulders, and thrusting him far from her, she cried: “Away, away from hence—hide thy face, or I shall die of shame!”
Then she flung the door to behind her, and extinguished her light. With a beating heart she watched Tannas slip away in the shadow of the houses; and presently she turned her eyes to the mountain as it glowed and slowly grew dark again, but never an answer did she give when the neighbours called her to come and look at the miracle.
And looking up, they saw that one of the rocky peaks of the Bucegi seemed all aglow.
From that time forth people began to notice that Paùna looked wonderfully pale; no smile was ever seen now upon her lips, that before had been wont so often to curl in mockery, and quick retorts no longer cut short the teasing words that folk called out to her as she passed. She did her work in silence, but was often so tired that she was obliged to sit down to rest upon the margin of the well, and bathe her forehead with the fresh water. Sometimes she would gaze sadly at her own reflection in the well, or glance timidly up towards the Bucegi Mountain. All at once it began to be bruited about that Tannas had been in the village; this person and that felt sure of having seen him by the light of the burning mountain, and it was even said that his voice had been heard with Paùna’s. When the latter was questioned about it, the drops of sweat burst out upon her brow and round her lips, that trembled slightly as she replied: “Was not all still and dark in our house, the night that the mountain was on fire?”
Paùna’s mother shook her head, till her very under lip quivered, and said that all manner of strange signs were to be seen in these evil days.
At last the news came that a great and deadly battle had been fought. This time Paùna was the last to hear of it, but when she did, she hurried home and made a little bundle, tying up a gourd and some maize-bread in a cloth; and when her mother anxiously asked her whither she was going, she only said: “I shall soon come back again, mother; do not fear for me.”
The battlefield lay wide and silent in the twilight; thousands of dead bodies were scattered upon it; horses writhed in the death-throes, or limped about with drooping heads. The army was encamped around huge sentry-fires, and the men no longer gave any heed to the cries and wailings that echoed from the battlefield. A stately woman’s form moved alone amid the lines of bodies; it was Paùna, who had already made inquiry after Tannas throughout the whole camp. She drew bravely near to both friend and foe, giving many a one a drink, and closely scanning the features of the dead. Night had now closed in, and the moon lit up the fearsome scene. Still the maiden moved to and fro, anon kneeling down and resting some dying man’s head upon her breast, and again searching some terribly disfigured corpse for a little ring, and a coin about the throat. Only once she staggered back, and that was when she beheld some women plundering a corpse, and heard the finger-joints crack as they dragged the rings from off the hand. She hastened away, but soon returned to scan the dead man’s face with anxiety.
The whole camp was sunk in slumber, but still Paùna glided about the battlefield in the moonlight. Sometimes she would utter a low cry: “Tannasse!”—and often a groan would be heard in answer, but she always shook her head sadly, after bending to give the sufferer a drink. The dawn was beginning to break, and the moon to pale, when she suddenly saw something glitter on the ground, and drawing near, found a half-stripped, dead man lying there, on whose hand shone a little ring. And the hand had grasped something that the man wore about his neck, so firmly, that the plunderers had plainly given up trying to force the fingers open. Paùna knew her own ring again, and with a loud cry of “Tannasse!” she sank down beside the body, whose face was so covered with blood that it was scarcely recognisable. In a few moments Paùna came to herself again, and began to wash the beloved face. She saw, with fast-flowing tears, that both eyes and nose were gashed through by a terrible stroke, but she saw also that the blood gushed out again as she wiped it away. Now she was sure that her beloved was not dead, and she hastened to moisten his lips, and to bind up his wound with her kerchief. Then he began to sigh, and when he heard his name called, to feel about with his hand. Presently it touched Paùna’s face, and lingered long upon it.
“My Paùna!” he murmured almost inaudibly. “Let me die—I am blind—I am of no more use on earth!”