s "Czipra, Czipra, Czipra!"

The warm mist of passion swept away the maiden's reason.

Her heart beat so, it almost burst her bosom, and her every limb
trembled.

She was no longer mistress of her mind.

She left her bed, and therewith left that magic circle which the
inspiration of the Lord forms around those who fly to Him for
protection, and which guards them so well from all apparitions of the
lower world.

"Go bare-footed!"

Why it was only a few steps from the door to the bushes.

Who could see her? What could happen in so short a time?

It was merely the satisfaction of an innocent desire.

It was no deed of darkness.

Every nerve was trembling.

She was merely going to break a little branch, and yet she felt as if
she was about to commit the most heinous crime, for which she needed the
shield of a sleepless night.

She opened the door very quietly so that it should not creak.

Lorand was sleeping in the room vis-a-vis: perhaps he might hear
something.

She darted with bare feet before Lorand's door, she carefully undid the
bolt of the door leading into the garden and turned the key with such
precaution that it did not make a sound.

Noiselessly she opened the door and peered out.

It was a quiet night of reveries: the stars, as is their wont when seen
through falling dew, were changing their colors, flashing green and red.

The nightingale was now cooing in the bushes, as it does when it has
found its mate.

Czipra looked around her. It was a deep slumbering night: no one could
see her now.

Yet she drew her linen garment closer round her, and was ashamed to show
her bare feet to the starry night.

Ah! it would last only a minute.

The grass was warm and soft, wet with dew as far as the bushes: no sharp
pebble would hurt her feet, no cracking stick betray her footsteps.

She stepped out into the open, and left the door ajar behind her.

She trembled so, she feared she would fall, and looked around her: for
all the world like someone bent on thieving.

She crept quietly towards the bushes.

The nightingale was warbling there in the thickest part.

She must pierce farther in, must quietly put the leaves aside, to see on
which branch the bird was singing.

She could not see.

Again she listened: the warbling lured her further.

It must be near to her: it was warbling there, perhaps she could grasp
it with her hand.

But as she bent the bough, a fierce figure sprang up before