The troubadour quickly drew his sword, and the count was rushing upon him, when cried the former, “Softly, count. Brave men quarrel not in the presence of trembling women.” “Follow me!” cried the count; and, spite of all the entreaties of the lady, the rivals strode on to some secluded spot that one might slay the other. PART II.--THE GIPSEY. Among the gipsies!--the gipsies--then, as now, and as who knows through how many hundreds of years?--daring, brave, handsome, light hearted rovers! In Spain the zingaras, or gipsies, have ever increased and multiplied. The land seems to foster them kindly; and, at the period of our tale, they were so numerous, that quarrelsome or rebellious nobles would frequently enlist the sympathies and strong arms of the tribe. Often and often the prowess of the zingaras provided the turning points of the Spanish victories. The band of gipsies to which the troubadour, Maurico, belonged had taken part in the rebellion against the king. Hence the expressions used by the count when he discovered Maurico in the palace gardens. The gipsies were encamped within and about a dilapidated old building, amid the mountains of Biscay, not far from the castle of the Count di Luna. In their encampment they sang, and laughed, and danced as though they were masters of the earth, instead of being surrounded by danger, and, possibly, near to death! The flickering flames of a wood fire, which shone on the faces of the wild band, paled before the coming day. But there was yet sufficient light to see Maurico, muffled in a cloak, lying at the feet of a stern-looking gipsey woman, whom they called Azucena. Suddenly this woman started from her sleep--stood up--came a step or so forward--and cried, “Look--look ye! See how the flames dart at her, as she is dragged along. Look ye, how they all crowd about, and are merry over her trouble--a poor gipsey led to death! See how their faces are bathed in blood! There! she screams in her agony; and higher, and yet higher the mocking flames rise about her; and now I see her no longer. Gone--gone--gone!” Suddenly she came to herself, and half whispered, “Vengeance! I will have vengeance.” “Still that word, mother,” said the troubadour, Maurico, rising from his hard bed. As the sun lit up the shadows in their dark skins, the gipsies moved away in various directions. Presently, the gipsey-mother and gipsey-son were alone together. Suddenly she began again to speak of her terror. “She was accused of witchcraft--my mother; and they burnt her here--here, on this very spot. I see her, thick chains hanging about her limbs, dragged to this very spot. I stood near, holding thee in my trembling arms. In vain she sought to bless me; they struck down her hands, and drove her forward. Then it was she cried aloud, ‘_Avenge me!_’ And canst thou not read the words here--here on my face?” “And thou didst obey, my mother?”