"I thank you!" cried the gypsey, "Good-bye, Messieurs—Mesdames! Au revoir!"
She bowed again, backing towards the door, the cap still held between her hands, the Violinist following.
"Adieu! Au revoir!"
The crowd clapped noisily, cheering until the great, bare station of the customs rang and re-echoed.
"Au revoir! Adieu!"
The gypsies backed together, smiling, bowing; they passed through the door. They reached the paling—the sentinels; the flag with the eagle floated over their heads; then a click, and the gate closed behind them.
They were on German soil. They were free—they were free.
"Kaya!" said Velasco.
The room at the inn was small and very still. The shades were down, and over in the corner, beyond the couch, a single candle was burning.
"Are you awake, Kaya?" said Velasco softly, bending over the couch until his curls brushed hers, and his lips were close to her rosy cheek.