"The gentleman is cold, Morcar," said Zingary: "produce the rum, and hand a snicker."
The King's son hastened to the van to fetch the bottle of spirits; and Markham could not help observing his fine, tall, well-knit frame, to which his dark Roman countenance gave an additional air of manliness—even of heroism.
Richard partook of the spirits, in order to ingratiate himself with the gipsies; and King Zingary then called for his "broseley."
"You appear to lead a happy life," observed Richard, by way of encouraging a conversation.
"We are our own masters, young gentleman," answered Zingary; "and where there is freedom, there is happiness."
"Is it true that your race is governed by a King?" asked Markham.
"I am the King of the united races of Bohemians and Egyptians," said Zingary, in a stately manner. "This is my beloved Queen, Aischa: that is my son, Morcar; here is my daughter-in-law, Eva; and that lad is my grandson."
Richard started when these names fell upon his ears; for they had been mentioned to him by Skilligalee in the Palace of the Holy Land. He also remembered to have been informed that it was in consequence of something which the Resurrection Man told Aischa, when she was attending to his wound, that the gipsies took him with them when they removed from the Palace to the encampment near the Penitentiary at Pentonville.
"I feel highly honoured by the hospitality which your Majesty has afforded me," said Richard, with a bow—an act of courtesy which greatly pleased King Zingary. "On one occasion I was indebted to some of your subjects for a night's lodging at your establishment in St. Giles's."
"Indeed!" exclaimed the King; and now all the gipsies surveyed Richard with some interest.