A PIG-WALLOW
and gait of a duchess. Tobacco stood in the place of a formal introduction, and even the conscious beauty asked for a cigarette, and puffed away like a veteran smoker. The keen-eyed old rascal who, by virtue of advanced age or superior cunning, was recognized as the chief of the party, took the liveliest interest in our attempts to sketch the beauty, and when the sketch was done, calmly proposed to give us the model to carry away with us. As the offer was made in Roumanian, a language not then familiar to our ears, we did not at first comprehend the generous nature of the gift.
“Take her with you,” he said. “You’ll go, won’t you?”
“Indeed I will,” replied the dusky beauty, “if they’ll take me to Bucharest.”
“But if she goes away with us it will make a scandal, and the husband will have something to say about it,” we timidly suggested.
“Not at all,” insisted the old heathen; “he’s away now, and if he finds her gone when he comes back, he’ll easily get another wife.”