The gipsy turned away and disappeared behind the house.
"They are scamps," said Mrs. Rollmaus, deeply irritated. "Believe nothing of what they say to you. This one talks worse nonsense than the others. I really believe, dear Ilse, you take to heart what this beggar woman has said."
"She knows this house, she knew well what she says," said Ilse, faintly.
"Naturally," exclaimed Mrs. Rollmaus; "they rove about and peep through all the crevices, they have a good memory for other people's business, but do not remember their own thievish tricks. I have a great suspicion of her as regards my soup-ladle. If this is the famous fortune-teller I am so disgusted as not to care to make any further inquiries. Ah! and you also, I see."
"I know the woman," replied Ilse; "she belongs to the band who stole our children, and wounded the arm of my Felix. Now her uncanny figure comes before me like a spirit, and her dark words excite horror in me. She threatens to return, and terror seizes me lest this woman should once more come upon me unawares. I must away from here."
Ilse hastened into the house, Mrs. Rollmaus followed her, and said, kindly:
"If she comes again, she shall be sent away. The best way of dealing with these prognosticators is to imprison them with bread and water."
Ilse stood in the sitting-room looking timidly about her.
"He who hung the cross upon her was the master of this castle; and when she spoke those wild words to me at the gate of the farm yard, she did not mean my Felix."
"She meant eight shillings, and nothing more," said Mrs. Rollmaus, consolingly.