“Girl,” he cried, “think you I can tamely submit to be thus despised, to have my love—my devotion trampled on. Again I ask you, consent to return here—to become my Countess! to accept my love, and you are free to depart; my carriage shall then convey you where you will.”
“It cannot be,” answered Azila, firmly, “I have but to repeat my former words.”
“Rash girl, your obduracy has driven me to madness, and the blame must rest on your own head!” exclaimed the Count, again springing forward to seize her; but she calmly retreated, placing her hand beneath her vest.
“Proud noble, forbear! I fear you not, for I venture not abroad without the means of defending myself, since you first taught me the necessity of so doing. Advance another step, and you either destroy me or yourself.” The Count seemed again about to spring forward, when she drew a dagger from beneath her vest, and pointed it to her bosom.
“See,” she said, “my weapon is of so fine a tempered steel, that even my feeble arm will suffice to protect me.”
The Count stood astounded; he seemed fearful of advancing, and unable to speak, as she continued:
“Now let me depart, lead the way and I will follow you. See! I hold my firmest protector to my bosom, so attempt not to stop me, or the first hand that is laid on me will be the signal of my death. I fear not to die, so think not to detain me; with full confidence I leave the boys of my tribe under your care.”
The Count exclaimed, “Inexplicable girl! you have conquered for a time; I now obey you! but you have kindled an inextinguishable flame within my bosom, which will consume us both. We must soon meet again. I will lead the way as you desire.”
Uttering these words, the Count led the way from the apartment towards the hall of entrance, where the domestics stood with amazed looks, as their haughty lord passed, followed by the humble Gipsy girl. The portal stood open as Azila passed out, bowing coldly to the Count, when he stepped aside to allow her to pass; she did not cast a glance at the others who were present. She seemed more like some distinguished guest respectfully attended to the entrance of the mansion by her host, than one of a despised and lowly race, escaping from the toils of a proud and libertine noble.
The Count retreated to the upper apartments of his sumptuous palace, moody, and furious at his defeat. The ruffian Groff was then summoned to attend him.