“What a pearl among women!” thought Racoare, and the horse sped along the road like a phantom.
The lady turned her head, and studied Racoare by the light of the moon.
“Why do you look at me like that, lady?” And the horse sped along under the overhanging woods.
The black hair of the lady shone in great billows of light. The foliage glistened with hoar-frost, like silver-leaf. The lady looked at the highwayman and shuddered, she felt herself squeezed in his powerful arms, and her eyes burnt like two stars beneath the heavy knitted brows.
“Why do you look at me like that, lady? Why do you shiver? Are you cold?”
The galloping hooves thundered through the glades, the leaves glittered in their silver sheen, and the bay passed on like a phantom in the light.
A shadow suddenly appeared in the distance.
“What is that yonder?” questioned the lady.
“Boyar Nicola awaits us there,” replied Racoare.
The lady said no more. But Cozma felt her stiffen herself. The leather strap was snapped, and two white hands were lifted up. The highwayman had no time to stop her. Like lightning she seized the bridle in her right hand, and turned the horse on the spot, but her left arm she twined round Racoare’s neck. The highwayman felt the lady’s head resting against his breast, and a voice murmured softly: