The herdsman laughed loudly, clapped one hand to the crown of his head, snapped his fingers in the air, and started his favourite song:
"Why not love this world of ours?
Gypsy maid, Magyar maid, both are flowers."
Not this very minute had he invented this tale, but on that night of pain when the "Yellow Rose" had sat smoothing his pillows and bathing his brow. Then, with his aching head, he had thought out a plan to save his faithless sweetheart.
The judge struck his fist on the table.
"None of your nonsense before me, making fun of the matter."
"I make fun of the matter!" exclaimed the csikós, becoming serious instantly. "I swear before God above, all I have said is true."
He raised his three fingers, and the girl screamed out,
"No, no! Do not perjure yourself! Do not risk the salvation of your soul!"
"The devil take you both, for you are both mad." This was the judge's verdict. "Notary, take down the herdsman's statement regarding the gypsy, who will be charged with committing the crime. As to her whereabouts, that the police must discover. It is their business. You two can go; if necessary, we will summon you again."
Then they let the girl free. She deserved a little fatherly rebuke, and that she got.