“Do you suppose,” said she, “that I intend to stay here all day like a captive goose?”
“Is it all over, then?” said he, “and are you going away, too?”
“To return may be a pleasure,” said she, “but to remain is always a bore.”
She hummed in the gipsy language:
“God gave thy mare no rein, Romichâl.”
“If you choose,” she continued, “we will ride together till night. My horse has wings.”
“Very good,” said Renaud. “Do you cross over to solid ground first. We will go together and get my horse. It will be a fine day.”
“And a good one! be sure of that!” said she, in her jerky voice, her voice which resembled another’s.
He went with her as far as the first of the stakes he had displaced, to point out the safe road to her, and when he saw her reach the edge of the swamp sixty feet beyond, he stooped and began to put the stakes in place one by one as he walked toward the firm ground.
When he reached the last, he sprang to his feet with haggard eyes.