Renaud turned his head, and throwing himself back, called her with a smacking of his lips.
“When I am ready!” said Zinzara in a mocking tone.
As she spoke, Blanchet leaped forward, with all four feet in the air, and made a tremendous splashing in the water, which fell about their heads in a heavy shower.
And, unseen by Renaud, the gipsy smiled against his neck, as she replaced in her hair the long gold pin she had plunged into the beast’s flank.
Suddenly there was a shout of Qui vive? directly in front of them, so unexpected in the solitude, that Blanchet jumped again.
“Qui vive?” the voice repeated.
“The king!” Renaud replied gaily.
“Ah! is it you, Renaud?”
It was the revenue officers; but Renaud hurried by, at a safe distance, so that they might not recognize the gitana.
They were near the salt spring of Badon. The rectangular heaps of salt seemed like so many long, low houses, with sharp roofs. In its shroud-like whiteness the spot resembled a little town, geometrically laid out, asleep under dead snow.