He struggled, clutching the air with his hands, and cried again:
"God! Am I to be hanged alone? My God!"
His convulsive hands gripped the hand of Werner, and he continued:
"Sir, my dear sir, my good sir. You will come with me, won't you?"
Werner, his face drawn with sorrow, answered:
"I cannot; I am with Yanson."
"Oh! My God! then I shall be alone. Why? Why?"
Musya took a step toward him, and said softly:
"I will go with you."
The Tzigane drew back, and fixed his big swollen eyes upon her:
"Will you?"
"Yes."
"But you are so little! You are not afraid of me? No, I don't want you to. I will go alone."
"But I am not afraid of you."
The Tzigane grinned.
"Don't you know that I am a brigand? And you are willing to go with me? Think a moment. I shall not be angry if you refuse."
Musya was silent. And in the faint light of the dawn her face seemed to take on a luminous and mystic pallor. Suddenly she advanced rapidly toward the Tzigane, and, taking his head in her hands, kissed him vigorously. He took her by the shoulders, put her away a little, and then kissed her loudly on her cheeks and eyes.
