Squire Gerzson jerked his head significantly.
"I don't want to alarm you, my dear Baroness," said he, "but that csárdá lies in the beat of the "poor vagabonds"—you may have heard of them."
"Oh, I have spent a night there already. I know the innkeeper's wife. She is a very good sort of woman, who told us tales all night long while she worked her distaff at my bedside. I should very much like to see her again. Besides, I know the "poor vagabonds" also. All of them kissed my hand in turn when I was there. If, however, anybody should be rude to me, have I not papa Gerzson?—when he is by I fear nobody."
"Noble heart!—very well, be it so! If your ladyship fears nothing, I think I may very well say the same."
Whereupon Squire Gerzson gave the coachman two florins to speed him on to Oroshaza, where he was to get fresh horses and come on the same night to the csárdá, so that they might be able to set off again before dawn on the morrow. He himself then quitted the highroad in the direction of the well-known csárdá which, with sound horses, he might have reached in about an hour, but which with lame ones he only got up to towards evening, having repeatedly to rest on the way. Squire Gerzson kept on asking Henrietta whether she was hungry or thirsty and offered her his flask again and again; but she always gently declined it, the old man feeling in honour bound to follow her example. He comforted her, however, with the assurance that the csárdá-woman was a dab hand at turning out all sorts of good old savoury Hungarian dishes.
At last, after a weary journey, when evening was already closing upon them, Henrietta perceived the csárdá gleaming white behind the acacia trees. When they stumbled into the courtyard they found nobody, and nobody came out of the door to meet them.
"All the better, nobody will see these game-legged nags," growled Squire Gerzson as he helped Henrietta out of the carriage.
"It is odd that the woman of the inn does not come out to meet me," said Henrietta. "She liked me so. How pleased she will be to see me."
Nevertheless no one came. Squire Gerzson grew impatient. He could not leave the coach and horses all by themselves.
"Hie! somebody! Who's at home? Landlady, wenches, or whoever you are, can't you creep out of your hole?"