Or perhaps a languid, idle, good-for-nothing domestic delicacy, who liked only to make toilettes, to sit for hours together before the mirror, and in the evening read novels by lamp-light. What a jest it would be to mock her, to make her stare at country work, to spoil her precious hands in the skin-roughening house-keeping work, and to laugh at her clumsiness.
Be she what she might, she might be quite sure of finding an adversary who would accept no cry for mercy.
Oh, it was wise to beware of Czipra! Czipra had two hearts, one good, the other bad: with the one she loved, with the other she hated, and the stronger she loved with the one, the stronger she hated with the other. She could be a very good, quiet, blessed creature, whose faults must be discovered and seen through a magnifying-glass: but if that other heart were once awakened, the old one would never be found again.
Every drop of Czipra's blood wished that every drop of "that other's" blood should change to tears.
This is how they awaited Melanie at Lankadomb.
Evening had not yet drawn in, when the carriage, which had been sent for Melanie to Tiszafüred station, arrived.
The traveler did not wait till some one came to receive her; she stepped out of the carriage unaided and found the verandah alone. Topándy met her in the doorway. They embraced, and he led her into the lobby.
Czipra was waiting for her there.
The gypsy girl was wearing a pure white dress, white apron, and no jewels at all. She had done her best to be simple, that she might surprise that town girl. Of course, she might have been robed in silk and lace, for she had enough and to spare.
Yet she ought to have known that the new-comer could not be stylishly dressed, for she was in mourning.