She left the window. The light streamed into the room, bringing a little courage to Livette's terrified heart, as she followed the gipsy with her eyes. In the bright light of that beautiful May evening, the gipsy woman stood out, a tall figure, against the distant, unbroken horizon line of the Camargue desert, which could be seen through a vista between the lofty trees of the park. Livette felt a thrill of joy as she saw a troop of mares trotting along the horizon, followed by their driver, spear in air--Jacques Renaud, her fiancé, without doubt.--But how far away he was! the horses, from where she stood, looked smaller than a flock of little goats. And her eyes came back to the gipsy queen. A few steps from the farm-house, in front of the seigniorial château, a huge square structure, with numerous windows, long closed,--a structure of the sort that arouses thoughts of neglect and death and the grave,--the gipsy stood on tiptoe, drawing down the lowest branch of a thorn-tree. The thorns were long, as long as one's finger. With a twig of a tree of that species the crown of the Crucified One was made. She broke off a twig thickset with thorns, bent it into a circle, twisting the two ends together like serpents, and returned to the window. Livette noticed at that moment that the two watch-dogs were following the gipsy, with their tails between their legs, their noses close to her heels, with little affectionate whines. And she, the gipsy Queen, as slender as haughty, erect upon her legs, in a ragged skirt with ample folds through the holes in which could be seen a bright red petticoat, her bust enveloped in orange-colored rags crossed below her well-rounded breasts, her amulets tinkling at her ears, medallions jangling on her forehead, which was encircled by a gaudy fillet of copper,--she, the Queen, came forward, holding in her hand the crown of long stiff thorns, to which a few tiny green leaves clung in quivering festoons;--and in a low, very low tone, she murmured the same caressing plaint that the two great cowed dogs were murmuring, saying to them, in their own language, mysterious things they understood. "Take this," said the gipsy, "let your kind heart be rewarded as it deserves! Misfortune, which is at work for you, will soon make itself known to you. How, may God tell you! In love, the wind that blows for you is poisoned by the swamps. The charity your God enjoins is, so they say, another form of love that brings true love good fortune. And here is my queenly gift!" She threw the crown of thorns through the window at Livette's feet. "Madame!" exclaimed Livette in dismay. But the gipsy had disappeared. Infinite distress filled the poor child's heart. With her eyes fixed on the crown, Livette recalled the legends in which the good Lord Jesus appears disguised as a beggar--and in which He rewards those who have received Him with sweet compassion.