"I love you in them," involuntarily exclaimed Vavel, extending his hand toward her.
"What? You offer me your hand? Do you believe that I am Katharina—only Katharina?"
"That I may wholly and entirely believe that you are Katharina, and not Themire, answer one question. A creature who calls himself the Marquis de Fervlans and Leon Barthelmy is lying in ambush somewhere in this neighborhood, waiting for you to settle an old account with him. If you are the same to me that you once were, and if I am the same to you that I was once, tell me where I shall find De Fervlans, for it will be my duty then to settle with him."
Katharina's face suddenly blazed with eager excitement. She flung back her head with a proud gesture.
"I will lead you to the place. Together we will seek him!" she cried, with animation in every feature.
"Then give me your hand. You are Katharina—my Katharina!"
He bent toward her, and the two hands met in a close clasp.
Count Fertöszeg ordered the drums to beat a reveille; then he selected from his troop one hundred trusty men, and galloped with them in the direction of Neusiedl Lake. Katharina on her mule, without the tinkling bell, trotted soberly by his side.