He ate from the fire-pot hungrily, dipping the crust she gave him into the stew and scooping up bits of meat and beans.
"I am filled," he said at length. "I will speak with Jarnik."
Marushka danced across the grass in front of him like a little will-o'-the-wisp, her fair locks floating in the breeze, in the half light her eyes shining like the stars which already twinkled in the Hungarian sky.
The Gypsy dogs bayed at the moon, hanging like a crescent over the crest of the hill and silvering all with its calm radiance. Millions of fireflies flitted over the plain, and the scent of the ripened grain was fresh upon the wind.
Banda Bela sniffed the rich, earthy smell, the kiss of the wind was kind upon his brow; he was fed and warm.
"Life is sweet," he murmured. "In the Gypsy camp is brother kindness. If they will have me, I will stay."
Old Jarnik had eyes like needles. They searched through Banda Bela with a keen glance and seemed to pierce his heart.
"The Gypsy camp has welcome for the stranger," he said at length. "Will you stay?"
"You ask me nothing," said Banda Bela, half surprised, half fearing, yet raising brave eyes to the stern old face.
"I have nothing to ask," said old Jarnik. "All I wish to know you have told me."