"We wish to work, Mademoiselle," she said, in fluent German, with a foreign accent; "the men mend old utensils, and we drive away rats and mice from the walls; and if you have a sick horse, we will cure it speedily."
Ilse shook her head negatively. "We do not need your help; where is your pass?"
"We have none," said the woman; "we came from foreign parts," and she pointed to where the sun rises.
"And where will you rest to-night?" asked Ilse.
"We do not know; the sun is going down and my people are weary and barefooted," replied the gypsy woman.
"You must not rest near the farm nor near the village houses. The bread you will receive at the gate of the farm-yard; you may send some one there to fetch it. If you light a fire in any of our fields, take care not to go too near the sheaves; we shall look after you. Let none of you stroll about the estate or into the village to tell fortunes to people, for we do not permit it."
"We do not tell fortunes," answered the woman, touching a small black cross which she wore around her neck. "None here below know the future, nor do we."
Ilse bent her head reverently.
"Well said," said she. "According to the meaning which seems conveyed in your words, you do not remind me in vain of the communion which exists between us. Come to the gate yourself, mother, and await me there; if you need anything for your little ones, I will endeavor to help you."
"We have a sick child, my pretty young lady, and the boys are in want of clothes," begged the gypsy woman. "I will come, and my people shall do as you wish."