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On the table, too, stood her Parian vase filled with golden and blood-red maple-leaves, and the flaming berries of the burning-bush. Very prettily the room looked, when everything was finished, and Gypsy was quite proud of it. Joy came Thursday night. They were all in the parlor when the coach stopped, and Gypsy ran out to meet her.
Alexandre opened a little cupboard, and took out a letter which she handed to him. "Here, take it," she said, "and be satisfied." Considering that she used to be a chambermaid, Palmyre Chocareille, since become Mme. Gypsy, wrote a good letter. It bore the following address, written in a free, flowing hand: FOR M. L. DE CLAMERAN, Forge-Master, Hotel du Louvre. To be handed to M. Raoul de Lagors.
From Cordova to Madrid is about three hundred miles by railway, carrying us through some very interesting and typical scenery. Occasionally a gypsy camp is passed, pitched near our route, presenting the usual domestic groups, mingled with animals, covered carts, lazy men stretched on the greensward, and busy women cooking the evening meal.
And it must have damaged him a lot to have as much come out about that as did." "I expect a lot of people who heard it didn't believe it." "Even if that's so, I guess there were plenty who did believe it, and who think now that Mr. Holmes is a pretty good man to leave alone. You see, that proved absolutely that he had really hired that gypsy to carry you off, and that is a pretty mean thing to do.
He who had coveted the horse with desire, hungered for the maiden with passion; and with him, to feel an appetite, was to rush toward its gratification, as fire rushes upon tow. "Baltasar!" he said. The gypsy turned. "You are a girl-thief as well as a horse-thief."
"But what a gypsy you must be," she added, in her usually lively tone, "to have trudged along so many years with this precious little bundle, and said never a word to anybody!" "I've not thought of it myself, these ever so many years," said I, "and it seems like witchwork that it should all have come to me at this moment."
He cocked the pistol for a fourth shot, when a man rushed into the room, snatched the pistol from the banker's hand, and, throwing him on the sofa, ran toward Mme. Fauvel. This man was M. Verduret, who had been warned by Cavaillon, but did not know that Mme. Gypsy had extracted the balls from M. Fauvel's revolver. "Thank Heaven!" he cried, "she is unhurt."
It was the gypsy whom he had attempted to carry off on the preceding night, a misdeed for which he was dimly conscious that he was being punished at that very moment; which was not in the least the case, since he was being chastised only for the misfortune of being deaf, and of having been judged by a deaf man.
The Gypsy looks through the iron-grated door, and beholds, seated near the fountain, a richly dressed dame and two lovely delicate maidens; they are busied at their morning's occupation, intertwining with their sharp needles the gold and silk on the tambour; several female attendants are seated behind.
"What eyes he's got ain't for you," answered the gypsy cruelly. "He's kept his lamps steady on Pearl." "That's all you know about it," returned Mrs. Thomas with some spirit. "He sat beside me at the table this morning and squeezed my hand twice when I passed him the flap-jacks.
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