She pointed to the angels holding tulip wreaths.
"Now disease has come upon me."
She stretched out her hand:
"Give to the sick woman of the high road, who once went on the same path that you are now treading."
The color rose in Ilse's cheeks, she gazed fixedly on the beggar woman, and shook her head.
"It is not money that I want from you," continued the gipsy. "Entreat the spirit of this house for me, if he should appear to you. I am weary, and seek rest for my head. Tell him that the strange woman on whom he hung this token," she pointed to her neck, "begs for his help."
Ilse stood motionless; her cheeks glowed and her eyes flashed angrily on the woman.
"What will you give to find your silver again?" asked the beggar, in an altered tone, turning to Mrs. Rollmaus.
"So you are the fortune-teller?" said Mrs. Rollmaus, angrily, "and not a penny will I give you. Any one who examined your head would find a fine organism there. I have often heard such gibberish. Away with you before the police come. One of your people prophesied to my head-maid that she would marry a landed proprietor, and I was obliged to dismiss her, though she had been very useful. She began to attack even Rollmaus himself, although he only laughed at her. Go, we will have nothing to do with you."
"Think of my request," cried the stranger to Ilse. "I shall return."