eyebrows
scanty, his eyes grey and sly, with a downward tendency, his nose was
slightly aquiline, his mouth rather large--a kind of sneering smile
played continually on his lips, his complexion was somewhat rubicund.

"A bad countenance," said Belle, in the language of the roads, observing
that my eyes were fixed on his face.

"Does not my countenance please you, fair damsel?" said the man in black,
resuming his hat and speaking in a peculiarly gentle voice.

"How," said I, "do you understand the language of the roads?"

"As little as I do Armenian," said the man in black; "but I understand
look and tone."

"So do I, perhaps," retorted Belle; "and, to tell you the truth, I like
your tone as little as your face."

"For shame," said I; "have you forgot what I was saying just now about
the duties of hospitality? You have not yet answered my question," said
I, addressing myself to the man, "with respect to your visit."

"Will you permit me to ask who you are?"

"Do you see the place where I live?" said I.

"I do," said the man in black, looking around.

"Do you know the name of this place?"

"I was told it was Mumpers', or Gypsies' Dingle," said the man in black.

"Good," said I; "and this forge and tent, what do they look like?"

"Like the forge and tent of a wandering Zigan; I have seen the like in
Italy."

"Good," said I; "they belong to me."

"Are you, then, a Gypsy?" said the man in black.

"What else should I be?"

"But you seem to have been acquainted with various individuals with whom
I have likewise had acquaintance; and you have even alluded to matters,
and even words, which have passed between me and them."

"Do you know how Gypsies live?" said I.

"By hammering old iron, I believe, and telling fortunes."

"Well," said I, "there's my forge, and yonder is some iron, though not
old, and by your own confession I am a soothsayer."

"But how did you come by your knowledge?"

"O," said I, "if you want me to reveal the secrets of my trade, I have,
of course, nothing further to say. Go to the scarlet dyer, and ask him
how he dyes cloth."

"Why scarlet?" said the man in black. "Is it because Gypsies blush like
scarlet?"

"Gypsies never blush," said I; "but Gypsies' cloaks are scarlet."

"I should almost take you for a Gypsy," said the man in black, "but
for--"

"For what?" said I.

"But for that same lesson in Armenian, and your general knowledge of
languages; as for your manners and