What next? Was it any use losing one's temper with the people? He went into the garden, and seated himself under a beautiful lime-tree. There, on the stone bench, he pondered again. His life was worthless if the woman he loved would not look at him! He watched the flight of the withered leaves in the still air; he heaved a sigh. "Vasile! Vasile!" called the boyar. His voice rang sadly in the melancholy garden. A sturdy old man came through the garden door, and went towards his master. "Vasile," said the boyar, "what is to be done?" The old man eyed his master, then he, too, sighed and scratched his head. "What is to be done, Vasile?" "How should I know, master?" "You must find something. Many people have advised me, now you suggest something. I got nothing out of that old witch, and Ciocirlie was no good; cannot you propose something?" "H'm----" "Do not desert me, Vasile!" "H'm, master, I'll tell you something if you will give me something." "Take a ducat of mine, Vasilica--speak!" Vasile did not let himself be put off by the mention of one ducat. He scratched his head again. "If I knew you would give me two ducats, master, or even three, or many--you understand--that's how it is! What will be, will be! I say go right off to Frasini, go into the courtyard, through the courtyard into the lady's boudoir and steal her! That's what I say!" "What are you talking about, good Vasile! Is it possible!" Vasile said no more. The boyar thought deeply, his hand on his forehead; then he said: "That's what I must do, Vasile! I know what I have to do! Bravo you, good Vasile!" "If only I knew I was to get two ducats reward!" sighed Vasile, scratching his head. And that evening Boyar Nicola kept his word. He mounted his horse, took with him five companions from among the grooms, and started out to Frasini. The forest shuddered with the whisper of the breeze of the autumn night. The men rode silently. From time to time could be heard the trumpeting of the cock, coming they knew not whence. Beyond lay silence. At last the widow's courtyard came into sight, black, like some heap of coal. Like ghosts Nicola and his companions approached the wall; in silence they dismounted; they threw rope-ladders over the top of the wall, climbed up and over to the other side. The horses remained tied to the trees. Suddenly they heard cries. Boyar Nicola was not afraid. He hurried to the door--the doors were not shut. He passed along the corridor. "Aha!" murmured the Greek. "Now I shall have the darling in my arms." But suddenly a door was opened, and a bright sea of light illuminated the passage. Boyar Nicola was not frightened. He advanced towards the room. But he had scarcely gone two paces when there, on the threshold, stood the Sultana, with her hair undone, in a thin white petticoat and a white dressing-jacket. With frowning brows she stood in the doorway looking at the boyar.