It is not my intention to describe here all the strange things I
both saw and heard in this Gypsy inn. Several Gypsies arrived from
the country during the six days that I spent within its walls; one
of them, a man, from Moron, was received with particular
cordiality, he having a son, whom he was thinking of betrothing to
one of the Gypsy daughters. Some females of quality likewise
visited the house to gossip, like true Andalusians. It was
singular to observe the behaviour of the Gypsies to these people,
especially that of the remarkable woman, some of whose conversation
I have given above. She whined, she canted, she blessed, she
talked of beauty of colour, of eyes, of eyebrows, and pestanas
(eyelids), and of hearts which were aching for such and such a
lady. Amongst others, came a very fine woman, the widow of a
colonel lately slain in battle; she brought with her a beautiful
innocent little girl, her daughter, between three and four years of
age. The Gypsy appeared to adore her; she sobbed, she shed tears,
she kissed the child, she blessed it, she fondled it. I had my eye
upon her countenance, and it brought to my recollection that of a
she-wolf, which I had once seen in Russia, playing with her whelp
beneath a birch-tree.
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