"Save my child, sir, save my child!" cried the gypsy, throwing herself down before him and embracing his knees.
The baron laughed.
"A very romantic situation, doctor," he said from the wagon. "Morning dawning, woods whispering, gypsy, the king's highway--really, quite a novel! In the mean time, while you console the bereft mother I will pursue the robbers, who are probably only sheep in wolf's clothing, a couple of empty-headed gentlemen of our neighborhood, who look upon the whole as capital fun."
"The one on the gray horse was Baron Nadelitz," said the coachman, who could hardly hold his horses, turning half around.
"Drive on!" said the baron. "We'll give them a lesson."
The carriage went off thundering.
The gypsy had raised herself again. She looked after the carriage, which flew with mad speed over the rough forest road and now disappeared behind some trees. A strange smile passed over her face as she stood there, listening in breathless excitement. Then, as her ear ceased to hear the rolling of the wheels, she crossed her bare arms on her full bosom, the restless heaving of which alone spoke of the violent storm which had just shaken her whole system, and stared rigidly before her. Suddenly she raised her head and said, fixing her glittering eyes on Oswald:
"Do you know the dark man who brings me my Czika back?"
"Yes, Isabel."
"Is he your friend?"