; so let us,
in the mean time, have a friendly chat together. You are so sparing of
words. I only wish your tongue had half the nimbleness of your feet."

"I am not fond of talking," replied the gipsy with cutting coldness;
"there is little pleasure in it."

"And yet you are a woman," cried Francis, merrily. "For Heaven's sake,
how could you have so degenerated? Only think, if every one were to be
as you are, what a poor sort of entertainment we should have in the
world."

"The world would gain by it," retorted the mask. "How much foolish, how
much evil, talk would be spared! How much falsehood and deceit! How
much perjury!"

"Oh, this is dull gossip," exclaimed Francis, struck by her words.
"Rather tell me my fortune; you have visited us as a gipsy, and should
keep up the character."

"Do not ask it," she replied, in a warning tone: "you might hear
something that would not please you."

"Yes, if I were fool enough to believe such nonsense. Prophesy away,
and be it at my peril. Here is my hand."

The gipsy hastily seized it. Her bosom heaved violently, and her eyes
darted piercing looks from out the mask.--At length she said, "These
lines do not please me; you are like to use your sword this very day."

"That would be the devil," cried Francis; and looked about with an air
of defiance, as if seeking for his adversary.--"But I have no
objection: to my mind the best of a feast is wanting if there is not
something of a row to wind it up."

"So much for the future," said the gipsy, releasing his hand. "The past
you will be contented to leave alone."

"By no means," exclaimed Francis. "Of the future you can lie as much
as you please, because no one can peep behind the curtain; but in the
past your art is put to the proof of fire, and if it does not come well
out of it, I shall mock you soundly."

Again the gipsy took his hand, examined it; but shuddered and
retreated, saying, "For the last time I warn you."

"That, by my troth, sounds like earnest," cried Francis,
mockingly.--"But go on, at my peril."

"You have murder on your soul!" said a voice hollowly from beneath the
mask.

Francis drew back, shuddering, but in the next moment he collected
himself, as he replied, "In the Turkish war I helped more than one
infidel to hell; but I pride myself upon it, and do not reckon it for a
murder."

"I speak of that which happened four years since, and of which you were
acquitted at the royal tribune of Prague."