ranch, set
it in a flower-pot, put it in your window, sprinkle it with water from
your mouth: before the branch droops, your lover will return, and will
never leave you again."

The girls laughed loudly at the gypsy woman's enchantment.

The woman held her hand out before Czipra in cringing supplication.

"Dear, beautiful young lady, scorn not to reward me with something for
the blessing of God."

Czipra's pocket was always full of all kinds of small coins, of all
values, according to the custom of those days--when one man had to be
paid in coppers, another in silver. Czipra filled her hand and began to
search among the mass for the smallest copper, a kreutzer,[76] as the
correct alms for a beggar.

[Footnote 76: One-half of a penny.]

"Golden lady," the gypsy woman thanked her. "I have just such a girl at
home for sale, not so beautiful as you, but just as tall. She too has a
bridegroom, who will take her off as soon as he can."

Czipra now began to choose from the silver coins.

"But he cannot take her, for we have not money enough to pay the
priest."

Czipra picked out the largest of the silver coins and gave it to the
gypsy woman.

The latter blessed her for it. "May God reward you with a handsome
bridegroom, true in love till death!"

Then she shuffled on her way from the house.

Czipra reflectingly hummed to herself the refrain:

"A gypsy woman was my mother."

And Czipra meditated.

How prettily thought speaks! If only the tongue could utter all the dumb
soul speaks to itself!

"Why art thou what thou art?

"Whether another's or mine, if only I had never seen thee!

"Either love me in return, or do not ask me to love thee at all.

"Be either cold or warm, but not lukewarm.

"If in passing me, thou didst neither look at me, nor turn away, that
would be good too: if sitting beside me thou shouldst draw me to thee,
thou wouldst make me happy:--thou comest, smilest into mine eyes,
graspest my hand, speakest tenderly to me, and then passest by.

"A hundred times I think that, if thou dost not address me, I shall
address thee: if thou dost not ask me, I shall look into thine eyes, and
shall ask thee:

"'Dost thou love me?'

"If thou lovest, love truly.

"Why, I do not ask thee to bring down the moon from the heavens to me:
merely, to pluck the rose from the branch.

"If thou pluckest it, thou canst tear it, and scatter its leaves upon
the earth, thou must not wear it in thy hat, an