The gypsy looked at the hilt, the blade; examined the cipher on the guard with adorable curiosity, and kissed the sword, saying,—
“You are the sword of a brave man. I love my captain.” Phœbus again profited by the opportunity to impress upon her beautiful bent neck a kiss which made the young girl straighten herself up as scarlet as a poppy. The priest gnashed his teeth over it in the dark.
“Phœbus,” resumed the gypsy, “let me talk to you. Pray walk a little, that I may see you at full height, and that I may hear your spurs jingle. How handsome you are!”
The captain rose to please her, chiding her with a smile of satisfaction,—
“What a child you are! By the way, my charmer, have you seen me in my archer’s ceremonial doublet?”
“Alas! no,” she replied.
“It is very handsome!”
Phœbus returned and seated himself beside her, but much closer than before.
“Listen, my dear—”
The gypsy gave him several little taps with her pretty hand on his mouth, with a childish mirth and grace and gayety.