He had not recovered from the first shudder when suddenly there appeared before him a man dressed in black, with pale and hollow cheeks, and eyes that glittered like carbuncles.
"Where are you going so late, friend Piper?" asked he, in a soft voice.
"To Drazic, Mr. Black Coat," answered the intrepid Swanda.
"Would you like to earn something by your music?"
"I am tired of blowing," returned Swanda. "I have some silver in my pocket, and wish to amuse myself."
"Who talks to you of silver? It is with gold that we pay."
Saying this, the stranger flashed before his eyes a handful of shining ducats. The piper was the son of a thrifty mother; he knew not how to resist such an invitation, and followed the black man and his gold.
How the time passed he never could remember. It is true that his head was a little heavy. The only thing that he recollected was that the black man warned him to accept whatever was offered him, whether gold or wine, but never to return thanks except by saying "Good luck, brother!"
Without knowing how he had entered, he found himself in a dark room where three men, dressed in black like his guide, were playing at strajak by no other light than their glittering eyes. On the table were piles of gold, and a jug from which each one drank in his turn.
"Brothers," said the black man, "I bring you friend Swanda, whom you have long known by reputation. I thought to please you on this feast-day by giving you a little music."