"A handsome fellow?"
"Have done there, and answer—where did he go?"
"I guess that may be the one?" Devilshoof reflected, consulting his comrades with a deliberation which made the officer wish to run his sword through him.
"Speak up—or——"
"Yes, yes—that's right—we have the right man! Up those rocks there," pointing. "That is the way he went. I shouldn't wonder if you might catch him."
The officer didn't wait to hear any more of this elaborate instruction, but rushed away with his men.
"Now, comrade," Devilshoof said to Thaddeus: "It is time for us to be off, while our soldier friends are enjoying the hunt. Only you lie around here while we explore a little; this gipsy life means a deal of wear and tear, if a fellow would live. There is likely to be something worth picking up about the castle, and after we have done the picking, we'll all be off."
As the gipsies and Thaddeus went away, the huntsmen rushed on, shouting to each other, and sounding their horns. Florestein came along in their wake. He was about the last man on earth to go on a hunt. He made this known without any help, by singing:
|
Is no succour near at hand? For my intellect so reels, I am doubtful if I stand On my head or on my heels. No gentleman, it's very clear, Such a shock should ever know, And when once I become a peer, They shall not treat me so—— |
That seemed to suggest that something serious had happened, but no one knew what till Thaddeus and a crowd of peasants rushed wildly in.