your Gorgio talk and the clever things you've learned in the Gorgio
world. You try to look down on me. I'm as well born or as ill born as
you. The only difference between us is the way you dress, the way you
live and use your tongue. All that belongs to the life of the cities.
Anyone can learn it. Anyone well born like you and me, with a little
practice, can talk like Gorgio dukes and earls. I've been among them and
I know. I've had my friends among them, too. I've got the hang of it
all. It's no good to me, and I don't want it. It's all part of a set
piece. There's no independence in that life; you live by rule. Diable!
I know. I've been in palaces; I've played my fiddle to the women in high
places who can't blush. It's no good; it brings nothing in the end.
It's all hollow. Look at our people there." He swept a hand to the tent
door.

"They're tanned and rough, as all out-door things are rough, but they've
got their share of happiness, and every day has its pleasures. Listen to
them!" he cried with a gesture of exultation. "Listen to that!"

The colour slowly left Fleda's face. Outside in the light of the dying
fires, under the glittering stars, in the shade of the trees, groups of
Romanys were singing the Romany wedding melody, called "The Song of the
Sealing." It was not like the ringing of wedding bells alone, it sealed
blessing upon the man and the woman. It was a poem in praise of marriage
passion; it was a paean proclaiming the accomplishment of life. Crude,
primitive, it thrilled with Eastern feeling; a weird charm was showered
from its notes.

"Listen!" exclaimed Jethro again, a fire burning in his face. "That's
for you and me. To them you are my wife, and I am your man. 'Mi Duvel'
--it shall be so! I know women. For an hour you will hate me; for a day