"Banda Bela," he said faintly.
"Why do you play like the summer rain on the tent?" she demanded.
"Because the rain is from heaven on all the Tziganes, and it is good, whether one lies snug within the tent or lifts the face to the drops upon the heath."
"I like you, Banda Bela," said little Marushka. "Stay with us!"
"That is as your mother wills," said Banda Bela, sitting up.
"I have no mother, though her picture I wear always upon my breast," she said. "But I will ask old Jarnik, for all he says the others do," and she sped away to an old Gypsy, whose gray hair hung in matted locks upon his shoulders. In a moment she was back again, skimming like a bird across the grass.
"SEARCHED THROUGH BANDA BELA WITH A KEEN GLANCE."
"Jarnik says you are to eat, for hunger tells no true tale," she said.
"I am glad to eat, but I speak truth," said Banda Bela calmly.