A crowd of wild figures came on with quick step, one behind the other. In front a powerful man in a brown smock-frock and shabby hat, with a stout stick in his hand; behind him some young men, then women with little children on their backs; all around and about the troop ran half-naked boys and girls. Most of the strangers were bare-headed, and without shoes. Their long black hair hung about their brown faces, and their wild eyes, even from afar, shone covetously on the walking party. "When the autumn comes, these people sometimes wander through our country. They are jugglers, going to the fair. But for some years they have not ventured into the neighborhood of our estate." The troop approached; there was a wild rush out of the gang, and in a moment the friends were surrounded by ten or twelve dusky figures, who pressed on them with passionate gestures, loud cries, and outstretched hands--men, women, and children, in tumultuous confusion. The friends looked with astonishment on their piercing eyes and vehement movements, and on the children, who stamped with their feet, and clawed the strangers with their hands like madmen. "Back, you wild creatures," cried Ilse, pushing herself through the throng, and placing herself before the friends. "Back with you. Who is the chief of this band?" she repeated with anger, raising her arm commandingly. The noise was silenced and a brown gypsy woman, not smaller than Ilse, with shining hair arranged in braids and a colored handkerchief about her head, came out from the band, and stretched her hands toward Ilse. "My children beg," she said; "they hunger and thirst." It was a large face with sharp features, in which traces of former beauty were visible. With head bent forward, she stood before the young lady, and her sparkling eyes passed peeringly from one countenance to the other. "We have money only for the men who work for us," answered Ilse, coldly. "For strangers who are thirsty, there is our spring; and to those who are hungry we give bread. You will get nothing more at our house." Again dozens of arms were raised and again the wild crowd pressed nearer. The gypsy woman drove them back by a call in a foreign tongue. "We wish to work, Mademoiselle," she said, in fluent German, with a foreign accent; "the men mend old utensils, and we drive away rats and mice from the walls; and if you have a sick horse, we will cure it speedily." Ilse shook her head negatively. "We do not need your help; where is your pass?" "We have none," said the woman; "we came from foreign parts," and she pointed to where the sun rises. "And where will you rest to-night?" asked Ilse. "We do not know; the sun is going down and my people are weary and barefooted," replied the gypsy woman.