I was now growing desperately hungry, but even in this matter good fortune stood by me, as I had the luck to stumble against a zingari encampment.
The gipsies were wretchedly poor, their tents were patched and dirty, they themselves were clothed in rags and tatters, but they had a fire and a big round pot with something savoury in it.
They did not wish to share their meal with me, and warned me off with scowling looks and surly words; but I was far too hungry to be got rid of so easily.
If they would not give me a dinner, I would buy one; and after a good deal of angry squabbling we made a bargain.
The wrinkled old dame in charge of the cooking operations ladled out enough of the hot stew to fill a huge platter, in exchange for which I gave the head man of the party my gold-braided jacket.
Elsewhere it would have been a dear dinner, but under the circumstances I was quite content.
In addition, they told me that by following the stream I should certainly come up with the army before nightfall, which was very cheering news.
These poor folk were often on the verge of starvation themselves, and they showed no surprise at the ravenous way in which I gobbled up the plateful of food.
The men sat about lazily and smoked; the women continued their labours; the naked children played their uncouth games without even a glance in my direction.
When the plate was empty, I rose to go, and no one even took the trouble to say good-day.