The next turn brought us to the entrance of a chamber, or rather den,
for it had probably been built for wild beasts, and formerly tenanted
by them. A ruddy fire burned in the middle, and circles of smoke escaped
through crannies and fissures, for of course there was no chimney.
A savory steam arose from a large black pot suspended over this fire,
and round it was gathered a motley and unruly group, not Gabrielle and
the children, but of tramps, gipsies, peddlers, and very likely thieves.
Swarthy Morescoes, Basques, I know not how many nations, were there
represented. They were singing, carousing, and making much noise.

"Here's a pretty lady," cried a gipsy woman, as Madeleine shrank back
affrighted.

"Welcome, welcome!" cried one or two voices. "Come and make one of us."

"Not so fast," said a dissentient voice. "There's a young man with her.
How do we know he is not a spy?"

"Good sir, I am lame on both feet," said I, and was turning away with
Madeleine, both of us anxious to plunge into the darkness, out of their
sight, when a threatening, swarthy man, of great strength, prevented our
departure.

"You are neither of you going," said he, defiantly, "till you give some
account of yourselves and your object."

"We are harmless people; we have only mistaken our way," interposed
Madeleine.