"Your hand must now pronounce a blessing on us."
"Willingly."
"I do not ask it for myself: I await my punishment: I am going before my judge and shall not murmur against him. I want the blessing for those whom I love. This young fellow yesterday asked of me this maiden's hand. They have long loved each other, and deserve each other's love:—give them the blessing of faith, father. Do you agree, Czipra?"
The poor girl covered her burning face with her two hands, and, when Lorand stepped towards her and took her hand, began to sob violently.
"Don't you love me? Will you not be my wife?"
Czipra turned her head on one side.
"Ah, you are merely jesting with me. You want to tease, to ridicule a wretched creature who is nothing but a gypsy girl."
Lorand drew the girl's hand to his heart when she accused him of jesting with her. Something within told him the girl had a right to believe that, and the thought wrung his heart.
"How could you misunderstand me? Do you think I would play a jest upon you—and now?"
Topándy interrupted kindly.