A loud cry came from a little distance through the silent morning--and once more, louder, desperate, as if a woman, for it was a woman's voice, sees the murderer's knife raised in his hand. Before them lay a piece of woodland; the road went around it; the cry must have come from the other side, which was hid from them by a few detached oak-trees and thick underwood. "Go on, Charles, faster!" cried the baron. The coachman whipped his horses. The noble creatures, as if amazed at such undeserved treatment, rushed headlong forward, so that the two men in the carriage began to tremble. In an instant they were at the corner. As soon as they could see the other side they beheld a strange sight--A strangely dressed, dark-complexioned woman, with a piece of red stuff twisted like a turban around her bluish-black hair, ran shrieking after three horsemen, who spurred their horses to make their best speed, and instantly disappeared behind another turn in the road. As the baron's carriage came thundering up, the woman jumped aside and cried, with screaming voice, lifting her hands as if in prayer: "My child--my child! they have robbed me of my child!" The coachman found it hard to stop the horses. Oswald, who had at once recognized the Brown Countess in the woman, had jumped down from the carriage. "Save my child, sir, save my child!" cried the gypsy, throwing herself down before him and embracing his knees. The baron laughed. "A very romantic situation, doctor," he said from the wagon. "Morning dawning, woods whispering, gypsy, the king's highway--really, quite a novel! In the mean time, while you console the bereft mother I will pursue the robbers, who are probably only sheep in wolf's clothing, a couple of empty-headed gentlemen of our neighborhood, who look upon the whole as capital fun." "The one on the gray horse was Baron Nadelitz," said the coachman, who could hardly hold his horses, turning half around. "Drive on!" said the baron. "We'll give them a lesson." The carriage went off thundering. The gypsy had raised herself again. She looked after the carriage, which flew with mad speed over the rough forest road and now disappeared behind some trees. A strange smile passed over her face as she stood there, listening in breathless excitement. Then, as her ear ceased to hear the rolling of the wheels, she crossed her bare arms on her full bosom, the restless heaving of which alone spoke of the violent storm which had just shaken her whole system, and stared rigidly before her. Suddenly she raised her head and said, fixing her glittering eyes on Oswald: "Do you know the dark man who brings me my Czika back?" "Yes, Isabel." "Is he your friend?" "No." "But he will be?" "Perhaps." "Is he a good man?" "I think so." "Do you remember the evening on the edge of the water, sir?" "Yes, Isabel." "Could you find the place again?" "I believe I could. Why?"