“You are feeling the cold, I am afraid,” said the pitiless brigand. “You shall dance for us; that will warm you and will afford us some amusement.” The wretched Jew pleaded that he did not know how to dance the _czarda_. “But you must give us some compensation. Go and stand with your back against that tree,” Mylfait insisted. “I am going to see what your gun is worth and whether it shoots true. I shall aim at your hat. Would you prefer to have your eyes bandaged?” The Jew renewed his piteous lamentations in the name of his wife and children. But Mylfait was inflexible, and slowly taking aim, fired, not at the hat, but a branch above. The ball broke it and it fell upon the Jew’s head, who, thinking himself killed, staggered and dropped to the ground. “Be off, you cur;” cried the brigand-chief, “you are not fit to live, but you may go.” These notorious characters were usually adored by the female sex. Every brigand had a devoted mistress, who prided herself on the evil reputation of her lover, whatever his crimes, even when he had many murders on his conscience. A strange flirtation and courtship was carried on for years in one of the principal prisons of Vienna. It was conducted through a clandestine correspondence; many ardent letters were exchanged, and the parties were betrothed long before they had actually seen each other. The letters that passed were models of style and brimful of affection. One, which had been concealed under a stone in the exercising yard, and was impounded, ran as follows: * * * * * “VERY DEAR FRÄULEIN: I am thunderstruck by the news of your departure. I wish you every sort of happiness, but I earnestly hope you will write me saying you still love me, and will wait for my release a month and a half ahead. Please go to my father’s house in the Rue de la Croix where you will be well received, for I have assured him that you alone shall be my wife, and you will find me a man of my word. I may add that I have the means of supporting you. Write me, I beg, so that my misery may be somewhat assuaged. Believe me when I swear eternal fidelity. Your own Charles. “Do not credit any stories you hear against me--they are all lies and calumnies. The world is very wicked, let us rise superior to it. I adore you. Adieu.” * * * * *