The old Count ran to the chasm to throw himself headlong into it, but his friends held him back.

ACT II

Twelve years after that day of the hunt in Count Arnheim's forests, the gipsies were encamped in Presburg. In those strange times gipsies roved about in the cities as well as in the fields and forests, and it was not at all strange to find the same old band encamped thus in the public street of a city. There, the gipsy queen had pitched her tent, and through its open curtains Arline could be seen lying upon a tiger's skin, while Thaddeus, who had never left the band, watched over her. There were houses on the opposite side of the street, and the gipsy queen's tent was lighted only dimly with a lamp that swung at the back, just before some curtains that formed a partition in the tent.

It was all quiet when the city patrol went by, and they had no sooner passed than Devilshoof entered the street, followed by others of the gipsy band, all wrapped in their dark cloaks.

"The moon is the only one awake now," they sang. "There is some fine business on foot, when the moon herself goes to bed," and they all drew their daggers. But Devilshoof, who was a pretty decent fellow, and who didn't believe in killing, whispered:

"Fie! Fie! When you are going to rob a gentleman, you shouldn't draw a knife on him. He will be too polite to refuse anything you may ask, if you ask politely"—which was Devilshoof's idea of wit. There was a hotel across the street, and one of the gipsies pointed to a light in its windows.

"It will be easy when our fine gentlemen have been drinking long enough. They won't know their heads from their heels." They stole off chuckling, to wait till they imagined every one to be asleep, but they were no sooner gone than Florestein, that funny little fop who never had thought of anything more serious than his appearance, reeled out of the hotel. He was dressed all in his good clothes, and wore golden chains about his neck—to one of which was attached a fine medallion. Rings glittered on his fingers, and altogether, with his plumes and furbelows, he was precisely the sort of thing Devilshoof and his companions were looking for. He was so very drunk that he could not imagine what a fool he was making of himself, and so he began to sing:

Wine, wine, if I am heir,
To the count, my uncle's line;
Wine, wine, wine,
Where's the fellow will dare
To refuse his nephew wine?

This excellent song was punctuated by hiccoughs. There was another stanza which rebuked the boldness of the moon—in short, mentioned the shortcomings of most people compared to this elegant fellow's. Altogether, he was a very funny joke to the gipsies who were waiting for him and peering and laughing from round a corner as he sang. Then Devilshoof went up to him with mock politeness. He bowed very seriously.