The Basque replied by a loud carcajada, and slightly
touched the Gypsy on the knee. The latter sprang up like a mine
discharged, seized his sword, and, retreating a few steps, made a
desperate lunge at Francisco.
The Basques, next to the Pasiegos, (52) are the best cudgel-players
in Spain, and in the world. Francisco held in his hand part of a
broomstick, which he had broken in the stable, whence he had just
ascended. With the swiftness of lightning he foiled the stroke of
Chaleco, and, in another moment, with a dexterous blow, struck the
sword out of his hand, sending it ringing against the wall.
The Gypsy resumed his seat and his cigar. He occasionally looked
at the Basque. His glances were at first atrocious, but presently
changed their expression, and appeared to me to become prying and
eagerly curious. He at last arose, picked up his sword, sheathed
it, and walked slowly to the door; when there he stopped, turned
round, advanced close to Francisco, and looked him steadfastly in
the face. 'My good fellow,' said he, 'I am a Gypsy, and can read
baji. Do you know where you will be at this time to-morrow?' (53)
Then, laughing like a hyena, he departed, and I never saw him
again.
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