What excellent food! Hot bread, roast duck with cabbage, boiled veal sausages, and wine! And Turkish coffee! And laughter and conversation! Good luck to Mistress Marghioala! After coffee she said to the old maidservant: "Tell them to bring out a half-bottle of muscadine." That wonderful old wine! A sort of languor seized my every limb. I sat on one side of the bed, draining the last amber drops from my glass, and smoking a cigarette, while through the cloud of tobacco smoke I watched Mistress Marghioala who sat on a chair opposite rolling cigarettes for me. I said: "Indeed, Mistress Marghioala, you have marvellous eyes! Do you know what?" "What?" "Would it trouble you to make me another cup of coffee, not quite so sweet as this?" How she laughed! When the maid brought the coffee-pot, she said: "Madam, you sit talking here--you don't know what it is like outside." "What is it?" "A high wind has got up, and there is a storm coming." I jumped to my feet and looked at the time; it was nearly a quarter to eleven. Instead of half an hour, I had been at the inn for two hours and a half! That's what comes when one begins to talk. "Let some one get my horse!" "Who? The ostlers have gone to bed." "I will go to the stables myself." "They have bewitched you at Pocovnicu!" said the lady with a ripple of laughter, as she barred my passage through the door. I put her gently on one side and went out on to the veranda. It was indeed a dreadful night. The drivers' fires had died down, men and animals were sleeping on the straw, lying one against the other on the ground, while above them the wind howled wildly. "There is a great storm," said Mistress Marghioala, shuddering as she seized me firmly by the hand. "You are mad to start in such weather. Stay the night here: start at daybreak to-morrow." "That's impossible." I forcibly withdrew my hand. I proceeded to the stables. With great difficulty I roused an ostler and found my horse. I tightened the girths, fastened the horse to the steps, and then went to the room to bid my hostess good night. The woman, immersed in thought, was sitting on the bed with my cap in her hand. She was turning and twisting it about. "How much have I to pay?" I asked. "You can pay me when you come back," replied my hostess, looking intently into the lining of my cap. And then she rose to her feet and held it out to me. I took the cap, and put it on my head, rather on one side. I said, looking straight into the woman's eyes, which seemed to shine most strangely: "I kiss your eyes, Mistress Marghioala!" "A safe journey to you." I threw myself into the saddle, the old servant opened the gate for me, and out I rode. Resting my left hand on my horse's flank, I turned my head round. Over the top of the fence could be seen the open door of the room, and in the opening was outlined the white figure of the woman with her hand above her arched eyebrows.